Miscalculation
by Natalie Rushman
Summary: He chose to ignore the implied question, "and I don't really have friends Sif, if you haven't noticed." - "You have me," - She made him wonder.
1. Chapter 1

Part one – Misadventure

"And he was to find it a great thing it was that he had done, too," read Kvasir, "For it was only by means of this passage that Buri escaped from the hands of the giants when they had broken in to the lower halls."

The teacher fell silent and Thor looked up, "Where was it?"

Kvasir closed the book, "No one knows," he leaned back against the desk behind him, the tome still in his hands, "The seeress fashioned it with such skill that it was believed that it would never be found, save by the one whom she had fashioned it for, and, so far as we know, Buri told his secret to no one before his journey beyond the sun."

"What good is it then?" Thor asked, "If we can't find it or use it, then why bother telling us about it at all?"

Loki thought it best to keep his peace. Thor was best undisturbed when in his moods. There would be no stopping him, not until he'd had his say.

"Does it not make a good story?"

"A story?" Thor dropped his hand against the table so hard that the ink bottle Kvasir had set upon it bounced dubiously.

Loki swallowed a groan and closed his eyes.

"What good for the realms is a story? Is our time not better spent?"

"One may learn much of benefit for the future from the tales of the past, Prince. This must be remembered. Loki," Loki didn't twitch. "What did you learn from this story?"

"Groa was a Visenda, was she not?" He didn't bother to open his eyes.

Kvasir sounded pleased, "She was. At least, so far as we can deduce. And why is this of import?"

"Because a Visenda has more potential ability than your average seeress, and thus might create a more powerful passage. She may have had enough power at her disposal for the creation of a portal, even a permanent one."

"Why is this information pertinent now?"

"Because Buri made good her debt to him in that way, and he _had_ to have known of what she was capable."

"So," Thor said slowly, "what you're saying is that we _might_ have an active portal within the very walls of the palace?"

"Indeed." Kvasir said.

Loki opened his eyes. Thor was looking at their teacher, "What good is that information if my _great-grandfather _took all knowledge of its presence with him to his grave? It's not like there are people we could ask."

"That is true." Kvasir allowed.

"But _if_ Groa was a Visenda," Loki said, "then wouldn't she have demanded the usual payment? Even if her service was rendered to absolve her debt?"

Kvasir smiled, "Very good. Yes. Groa – if she was a Visenda – was sure to have demanded by oath of blood, that the secret be somehow recorded. Usually, it was passed on by word of mouth, often from father to son, or mother to daughter, but, in this case, we have no sign of it."

"Well, if she didn't demand it," Thor exclaimed, "then she wasn't Visenda and there is no portal and this entire discussion is…" he seemed to be searching for the right word, "it's worthless!"

Loki wasn't listening. "Kvasir," he said, sitting up straighter, "You said just now that it was only 'usual' for the secret to be passed on orally. Could it be done in writing?"

"It could, though it required to be done by the recipients own hand – and we have precious little that Buri ever wrote."

"And even less reason to discuss it!" Thor hit the table again.

~.~

"Then I will see you both tomorrow," Kvasir stacked the maps they'd been studying and tapped them against the tabletop. By the time he'd looked up, Loki was already halfway out the door.

Kvasir's brows went up, "Now from you, I'd expect that," he turned to Thor, "but what has _he_ planned?"

"How should I know?" Thor grumbled, pushing himself up and stretching, "The first I know of _his_ plans is a snake in my bed and laughter in the hall."

Kvasir chuckled.

"But for once he _is_ showing _some_ sense. Until tomorrow."

And the elder prince was off.

Kvasir shook his head. Such was the way with boys.

~.~

_That selfish, spoiled, brat of a lop-eared pig._

Sif was nearly vibrating with passion as she marched down the hall.

_Think he can call _me _all those filthy names and come away unscathed. I'll show him. I'll show a-_ "-Oh!"

She only saw him as she hit him.

In her defense, he _was_ coming around the corner directly before her at a remarkable rate, and even if she _were_ watching where she was going she would have been hard-pressed to avoid him.

They collided at such a pace that she barely knew who he was until she was picking herself up off of the floor.

"Loki!" She was untangling herself, trying to find where her feet had escaped her to.

"Sif," Loki was faster, already having straightened, he offered her his hand, which she took, "I should know better than to duck around corners like that. You are unhurt?"

"I'm fine," Sif brushed off the skirt of the tunic she wore. It was unlike Loki – from the little she knew of him, being relatively new to life in the palace – to be so brief and so courteous. His face was flushed and excited. Suspicions peaked, and happy for the distraction from her own grievances, she asked, "What are you rushing off to?"

"I have –" he glanced away, seemingly remembering himself, clearing his throat, "I am looking for something. I've detained you long enough. My apologies for –" he gestured toward the floor, "You know," and went to move away.

Sif caught his arm, "Oh no you don't! You don't just get to knock me over and run off like that. I'm coming with you."

He seemed incredulous. "You have nothing better to do?"

She grinned, "Nothing at all."

He pursed his lips for a moment, then gave her a sharp nod.

Sif caught and held his pace easily, even though his legs were longer. "What are we looking for?"

"A book," he glanced at her, "Still interested?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Loki shrugged.

"Well, what sort of book is it?" she pressed.

"A very ancient one," he said. "One that would have been written in the time of my great-grandfather."

"You don't know what book it is, do you?"

Loki bristled, "If you wish to accompany me, you may. But don't think –"

Sif brushed the words aside with her hands, "What's so important about this book?"

There was a pause, "What book?"

Sif gave him a quizzical glance, "The book we're looking for?"

His voice was faintly acidic and his eyes glittered, "I don't know what book it is."

Sif cuffed him on the shoulder and he shot her a look, "You deserved that," she suppressed a smile, "but I was serious."

When Loki didn't answer, she turned. He was looking at her, all mockery gone from his face. But the look was gone again all in an instant, before she could tell what it had meant, "If we find it," he answered, "I'll show you."


	2. Chapter 2

Loki dumped the pile of manuscripts on the floor, coughing at the billowing dust.

"What are you doing now?"

Sif came around the corner, finger holding her place in an ancient volume. The library was dim, with only the light from the windows, but it was enough for them to work by.

"Don't you think it would be easier to look at them when they were _on _the shelf?"

"These weren't," he dropped down beside the mound, glanced up at her, "And before you begin fretting at me – again – I'll put them all back."

She laughed, brushing back the thin gold that had slipped from her braids onto her forehead.

Loki was having a difficult time convincing himself that she was still here. It had been hours since they had begun, and she was _still looking_. With absolutely no reason to. They'd barely spoken before he'd toppled her in the hall, and here she was, brushing the dust off the curled paper. And she didn't know why. She crouched down next to him, a look of wonder in her grey eyes. Who knew Sif – the girl who wanted to be a warrior – liked to read?

"Where did you find these?" she asked, "I've never seen something so old in all my life."

"Well, then maybe we're heading in the right direction."

Loki picked one up and began to page through it. If Buri had written it down, there was no way for the paper to vanish. It would exist as long as the portal did.

Sif laid aside her tome, "What are we looking for anyway?"

She'd searched long enough without knowing why. "A book."

When she didn't question him further, he looked up and found her regarding him with a level look so like the one his mother gave him that he laughed, "A note actually, a note written in Buri's hand."

She cocked her head, "What is the significance?"

"It should tell how to find a secret passage."

Her grey eyes went wide and excited, "Really? To where?"

"The book didn't say."

Best to keep the rest to himself.

~.~

Sif looked up cautiously over the edge of her book. Loki had fallen silent after his last tirade, ranting about why on earth someone would think it necessary to record the particular height of each and every soldier in the Asgardian army, as well as his complete lineage before killing them all unceremoniously off in an attack during the Svartalfheim wars.

She'd asked him if he'd really read all that.

He'd said no, after the past three hours he'd begun to pick up one of Thor's less-appealing habits and scanned it.

Sif had laughed at the dry tone, and he'd just _looked_ at her, perfectly exaggerated – as if he couldn't _imagine_ how she could find anything he'd said funny in the slightest. But he'd only managed it a moment.

He was leaning over the book in his lap now, a quiet, concentrated look on his face.

She'd only known him a couple of weeks, but she'd never imagined him like this. He always seemed so sarcastic and cold, like nothing and nobody could touch him. The prince she'd met, was not the one searching through the library across from her.

Loki gave a snort of a laugh, snapping her back to the present, tossing the book he'd held into the growing pile beside him.

"What is it?" Sif straightened up to stretch her back. It had been a _long time_ since she had last been standing.

Loki threw his arms up, "I give up! I swear Sif, I don't know _why _half of this was written."

"What now?"

He raised both hands, palms forward, like he thought she might strike him, wiping his face clear of expression, "A list – item by item, complete with portion sizes – of everything – _everything_ – Vafthrudnir ate the day before he was questioned."

"You're serious?"

"Do you think that I would lie?"

She knew what the others said. The people in the palace said he was a liar and a sneak.

_But I've seen none of that first hand_.

She had paused just too long before she blurted out a negative, she saw it in his face, and scrambled to cover it, "I merely find it hard to believe that someone would really think to record that."

He shrugged, gesturing toward the book, "Anark Norfison, apparently thought it a splendid idea." But something about the gesture was forced. The easy, unstudied air he'd taken up was gone. He reached for a new book which fell to papers in his hand. He gave a sigh and began to gather them again.

Sif kicked herself mentally and tried, "Did they say what he ate _before _Buri showed up?"

Loki's mouth quirked, as he re-stacked the pages, "I gave up _long_ before I got there."

"A son of Odin 'gave up'?"

He laughed then, "Don't get too surprised." He met her eyes for a split second, then opened up to the middle of the book.

Sif smiled to herself, looking back to her own pages.

Loki suddenly closed his book and laid it down. "That's it," he said, "If I have to read one more litany of heights and lineages I am going to go raving mad. You can't tell me you're still enjoying this?"

"It's lost much of its savor," she admitted.

"What were you reading before I brought all this useless mound out?"

Sif shrugged, "One of the volumes of the _Volupsa_, but it was past the date that we were looking for."

"Which one?"

She didn't remember and made a move toward the table she'd left it on, but Loki was closer. He rose, and in the breeze generated by his movement, Sif saw a slip of paper flutter loose from the book he'd set down only moments before.

"This one is rather recent,"

Sif picked up the loosely bundled sheets and laid them on the table, opening it to the loose page to work it back in.

"It must have been composed…" his eyes slid to her hands and snapped up to her, "Where did you find that?"

"Where you left it,"

Loki snatched the page from the book, scanning it over, face dark, "_Norns_," barely a whisper.

"What is it?"

He looked up, "Sif," he touched her arm, as if he needed steadying, or assurance that she really was listening, "Sif," he laughed, "you've found it."


	3. Chapter 3

Loki stared at the page, _Stand by the screaming wa- _

"Can you read that?"

He jerked up, looked at her, then back at the page, "Yes." He shook himself, "Yes, it's Old Tongue, I had to be fluent to pass the first tests Freya assigned me in my lessons..."

She brought him back, "What does it say?"

Loki read, "Stand by the screaming wall, Hraesvelg's dome. Face Vestri's lonely post, the skirnir's home. The troll that guards the entrance you must pay. And from there, skald or mage, you'll know the way."

"That's all it said?"

"No," Loki shrugged, "but that's the important bit. The rest of it's rubbish."

"What does it mean?"  
>"It's a riddle."<p>

Sif looked skyward, "I couldn't tell that."

Loki smirked.

"Hraesvelg is the giant who causes the wind in all the old stories, isn't he?" she was counting the points off on her fingers, "And Vestri is the dwarf who holds up the western sky. Skirnir is an ancient hero, though I've no _idea_ who or what _the_ skirnir is."

Loki's mind was teasing at the knots, picking them apart… and busily causing new ones. Hreasvelg caused wind. The wind's dome. The sky. Vestri was the western dwarf. Face the West. The troll…he had no knowledge of any troll guarding any part of the palace…the skirnir…

"Why 'skald or mage'? Why doesn't it list anyone else?"

"No one else would be able to read it," he muttered, more than a little peeved at the interruption.

"In Buri's time? Wasn't the AllTongue only just established here then?"

She had a point. He should have thought of that. Loki straightened from the page, "What else do they have in common?"

"I don't know, you're the one who's been in school his whole life."

Loki bristled, "What is that supposed to mean?"

She looked blankly at him a moment, then smirked, "Nothing more than that you should be smarter than I. I was raised far from books and all my learning came from the stories my mother told me."

Loki didn't know quite what to answer to that.

Sif didn't wait for him to. "They'd both know the language," she mused, "but beyond that, what would they have that no one else would?"

It hit him, "Magic," he looked at her.

She was skeptical, "Mages, yes, but skalds?"

"Yes. That was before there was a strong line between magic and witchcraft, and often those with some ability would hide as wandering skalds, keeping their skills hidden or disguised as mere trickery."

"Alright," she conceded, "What have we got so far?"

Loki turned back to his notes, "Stand by the screaming wall – the sky. Face the West – the skirnir's home. The skirnir may be the sun. The name means 'shining one,' and they say – in the stories," he smirked at her, "that the sun beds in the west. The troll that guards the entrance you must pay. And from there skald or mage you'll know the way. – There must be some sort of magical barrier."

"Well, it's lucky that you know magic."

She made the same error Thor and his friends always did. He might not know _enough _magic and he might not know _the right_ magic. But it was an error he was accustomed to ignoring.

"So, what do we do now?" she asked.

"I think first we should find a 'screaming wall'. That might lead us farther."

"Have you any ideas?" she spread her hands, "These walls seem mute to me,"

"Yes," Loki grinned at her in the way that Thor always hated, "I think I do."

~.~

Loki could be fast when he wanted to. She should have expected it. He'd won every footrace she'd seen him take. But he always seemed so _lazy_ as he wandered the halls. She must never have noticed him when he was excited by something. The change was remarkable. And for the better. She surprised herself by admitting that she actually _liked_ him as he was. He was funny. Defensive and sarcastic, but not unpleasant – when he wasn't paying attention. She'd forced her presence on him out of curiosity. Thor couldn't keep secrets, and she'd assumed Loki would tell what he was so interested in sooner than he had. And by the time he had told her, she'd found she didn't want to leave.

He led her, practically running down halls and corridors she'd never known existed. She guessed that that came with growing up here. She'd known everything about the woods surrounding the farm… It still hurt to think about it, so she was glad for the distraction when they suddenly came out into the open air.

The view made Sif dizzy. She'd never yet been up on the battlements, and the way the ground fell away and the city sprawled beneath snatched her breath.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Loki had stopped. She glanced at him, but couldn't quite get over the landscape, "What?"

He was grinning at her, she could tell it by his voice, "Never seen a view before?"

She found she couldn't summon the sarcasm she'd usually answer that with, "Not like this,"

Then he was next to her and she wasn't even startled.

"I used to climb a tree on the outer boundary of my family's farm," she murmured, "I thought I could see the entire realm." Shaking her head, she broke the spell and tore herself away, turned to face him, "You think I'm a fool."

He didn't face her, but looked out over the hills. For a moment, he didn't answer. Then shrugging, he turned, "You're new to it."

She was surprised by that. Not even an attempt.

The height was making daft fools of both of them.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder, "These walls are too quiet for our purpose."

~.~

Loki stopped for the third time to see her leaning over the wall. Those three didn't count the times he hadn't bothered to number when he'd glanced back and found her nearly tripping over her own feet as she tried to look over the side without slowing her pace.

"You know," she startled, flushing scarlet, "I could hold your hand if it would make your journey easier. There's none here but I to witness your lapse, and I swear on my honor I wouldn't tell."

She gathered her golden hair back from her face and narrowed her eyes at him, mimicking his courtly tone, "I thank you for your concern, but I shall be fine on my own."

Loki shrugged, "Suit yourself."

He waited a few minutes before he turned again, catching her as she regained her balance.

"Still so sure?"

She laughed, "Shut up."

"We're almost there."

He'd taken her up onto the wall because he'd thought it would be faster than through the halls. There would undoubtedly be less people. Less people, less questions. But he hadn't counted on Sif's becoming moon-struck by the view. Part of him was vaguely annoyed by it, part highly amused. There was another part – a small one – that felt something else entirely. Something he didn't understand and couldn't quite name… but it liked her for her acknowledgement of the power the beauty held.

~.~

"How's that?"

"What?" Sif was still disoriented and a little dizzy. She thought that she could spend the rest of her life here and never grow tired of the view. Though it didn't much help her conversational skills.

Loki was smirking at her. "Listen," he said.

There was a strange, disembodied shrieking far to the west beyond the wall, "What's that?"

"A screaming wall," he grinned, then gestured, "Noatunn's that way. The beaches attract the gulls."

Sif wandered closer to the wall, laying her hands against the cold grey stone. The walls seemed quiet, but she could hear the gulls, and it did sound like screaming.

"Are you sure this is the wall? He didn't mean one in Noatunn itself?"

"It had to be within the palace. This has to be the place."

Sif was skeptical, but having no better idea to offer, she surveyed the ground, "What's that down there?"

He came over next to her, "The old ruins. Father says they used to be attached to the palace."

She glanced at the stairs toward her left. "I've never seen them before," she started toward them.

"Where are you going?"

"Down. I want to see them."

"Don't you want to find the passage?"

She grinned back up at him, "You _do_ think I'm a fool,"

He followed her.

"Besides, they're ruins. Mayhap we'll find something to point us on our way."


	4. Chapter 4

Loki followed her as she wandered through the ruins. He and Thor had spent hours and hours playing here. For the longest time it was the only place outside of the walls that their mother would allow them to go. And she had only allowed it because it was still within the city – there were houses and stables beyond it – but one would never have known that from within the crumbling walls themselves. They crafted a world completely distinct from the rest of the city. A secret place.

"You know," he said, "There's a secret passage here too."

Her grey eyes flashed as she turned, "Show me."

He led her to the corner and brushed back a curtain of vines. Beyond it was a place where a door had been – ages before – and where stairs cut sharply down.

He looked back, expecting her to be pushing past him to peer down the stairs and instead, saw her tracing the stone on either side of the door.

"I wonder what this story was…" she murmured. She glanced up at him, as if only jus realizing she'd spoken out loud, "There were carvings like that on the doorposts of my parent's farm, and those were the first stories I ever knew," she gestured to the stone, "The first two panels have been weathered away, and all I can see of this one is a troll. It's odd…" she peered closer.

"What's odd?"

"All I can see is the troll. The pictures before and behind – even within the panel itself – _everything_ else is weathered away…" her head shot up, "Loki, we were looking for a troll! And look at his hand, he's asking for something. What was the rhyme?"

"Stand by the screaming wall, Hraesvelg's dome. Face Vestri's lonely post, the skirnir's home. The troll that guards the entrance you must pay. And from there, skald or mage, you'll know the way."

"We found the wall, we went west, and we found the troll. The passage must be underground, Loki. It must be here! What do we do now?"

Loki realized his hands were shaking. His head was spinning through spells and runes and the old stories.

"Well?"

"I don't know."

"'And from there, skald or mage, you'll know the way.'" She recited, hand on hip, then pointed out, "You're a mage."

She was worse than Thor, "I'm not yet, Sif," he snapped, stumbling over a phrase in his mind, "I'm still in training."

Her slender brows met, "Well I'm not," she returned, "All I'm saying is that you should have a good bit more of an idea what to do next than I. So stop getting angry with me when I admit that you're smarter and ask for advice."

Loki stopped. Looked at her. "I'm not."

"Not what?" she laughed at him, "Smarter than me? With that look on your face, I believe it."

He scowled, "That's not what I meant."

"I know," she smirked and sat down on what remained of a wall to her right, "but I don't know that I believe you."

That was it. He ground to a halt and looked again at the wall, scanning the side of it for a mark – any kind of marking…

Sif was still talking, "I don't know that many would. Often you seem angry, maybe you should work on it. You'd scare less people off."

"I'll think on that."

Twisting his hand, he pressed two fingers to the wall just above the place where the troll's outstretched hand would have appeared. He whispered the runes.

The space below him, at the base of the stairs, shimmered and changed. Instead of stone, now all was earth, lit by torches that lined both sides.

Sif jumped up, "Loki, you –" her eyes snapped at him, "You weren't listening to a word I said, were you?"

He felt like the smile was a bit too wide, but she deserved it, "Not a word."

She punched his shoulder, then turned back, "How did you figure it out?"

"Skald-craft, actually," he said, "I put all the kennings Kvasir's forced down my throat to good use."

"Kennings?"

"You know, when you say many poetic-sounding words in place of one simple one, like, 'Aegir's field' instead of 'the sea'. Most of the old riddles had two layers, one that gave you the answer, the other to rub it in your face when you had found it."

"Well, what did you do?"

"I paid the troll-guard, just as I was told. Hraesvelg was a giant who thought to gather all the gold in the Nine for himself. And for his greed, he was set to cause the winds for all time. The name 'Skirnir' means 'shining'. The word is found in unending kennings for gold. And we had to _pay_ the troll. Also," he snapped his fingers, "the Old-Tongue words for 'gold' and 'gull' are hardly different. The riddle fairly screams to give the troll gold and ask your way in."

"Will it stay open?"

"Only as long as I'm standing here."

"Then let's go in."

~.~

The floor of the tunnel was dark earth – the walls as well – broken only by the occasional by stone pillar that held up flickering torches. The air was thick and heavy. As they stepped in, the gate shimmered and disappeared behind them, revealing more of the tunnel, stretching on and on into the dark behind them. Sif felt a little prickle of unease, but the passage had to lead somewhere, and it was somewhere within the realm. There would be an end, and it would be before them. Why else would the tunnel have opened this way?

"Wait."

Sif stopped.

Loki grinned back at her, "Look at this." He reached out and touched the place where the gate had been, and the image shimmered and flickered, like a reflection on a pond.

"How did you do that?" She came over and stretched out her arm, in just the way Loki had, but her fingers met with nothing. Her hand went straight through, like nothing was there at all.

"I opened it," he shrugged, "It'll only listen to me," he turned his back to her, tracing some pattern on the air with his finger, "If it makes you feel better, Thor can't do it either."

"There are other passages like this?"

"A few."

"Where?"

He faced her, expression caustic, "Do you want us to find our way back?"

"Fine, I'll be quiet."

Loki chuckled and Sif walked a few paces down the hall. But then she turned back to watch.

He continued the tracing for a moment before the shapes he'd drawn flashed bright green. She gasped as they faded, leaving their imprint burned into her eyes. "What did you just do?"

Laughing at her, he answered, "I made sure it would lead me back. If you're not careful, you can lose the gate."

"Can't you use magic and find it again?"

He grimaced. "Yes, but it would take the better part of a week, assuming you're the lucky kind. This is safer. Come on."

He brushed past her and, blinking at the reddish glowing shapes marring her sight, Sif followed him.

There was no differentiation either before or behind, and as they went further and further down the passage, it began to make Sif uneasy.

"Have you any idea where we'll end up?"

"None. Buri took this path to escape from the Frost Giants that had broken into the palace. I know nothing more."

"The book didn't say what happened _after_ he escaped?"

"It went straight on to the next tale, which begins with Buri happy in his own home, secure with the realms," he looked her over appraisingly, "Are you troubled, _Lady_?" she laughed at his mockery, but he continued, "As I recall, you were the one to go down first, but I could always lead you back and continue on on my own."

"No," she flushed, "I'm fine. I'd just like to know what it was we were walking into. Who knows where we could end up, or if we'd need to defend ourselves...all I have is my hunting knife," she scanned him up and down, "And you are completely unarmed."

He laughed, and raised a hand, "I'm always armed," green fire flicked across the tips of his fingers, then winked out.

"I didn't mean _tricks_, Loki. What if we meet something that's actually dangerous?"

"Like I said," his voice was without the playfulness that had marked it before, "If this is not to your taste, I will gladly escort you back."

"I'm fine –" With a twist of his hand, he was suddenly several yards ahead of her. Sif gave an exasperated sigh, "You are every bit as bad as your brother." He didn't slow down and Sif lengthened her stride, then stopped. He wanted space. Fine. Let him have it. They'd come down a straight passage, one he'd marked their entrance to, and one without any branches of any kind. She could find her way back.

And let him have his temper. She could find it on her own.


	5. Chapter 5

Loki stalked along for what might have been a minute in complete silence before he began to feel that maybe he had reacted with a bit too much haste. But Sif had fallen silent, and he didn't really know how to start conversation again. Usually, this only happened with Thor and Thor never stayed angry – or quiet – long enough to lace a boot, much less pause an adventure. He glanced back, then stopped and whirled about.

Sif was nowhere to be seen.

The tunnel stretched out straight both before and behind him, with no differentiation whatever, as it had seemed to this whole time. There was no sign that she had ever been there at all.

_The IDIOT._

"Sif!" he knew that calling her was useless. Until the tunnel spat her back out, there was no possible way for her to hear him. He began to run back the way they had come. Didn't she know better? All passages created by the Visendakonar were created for the one who controlled them, and none other. That was why Bor had ordered that none more be crafted. Loki had opened it, Loki controlled it. The tunnels were treacherous if not used exactly as intended by one who didn't know the way. If one didn't follow them straight through, they could branch into many tunnels and dark rooms, twisting and turning and hiding Norns knew what horrors. All she had was her knife, knowledge of a few _fairy-tales_, and mayhap a moon's training. And she wasn't expecting to be trapped by the tunnel itself.

That was why he'd had to mark the entrance. If he had been alone, or if she had waited for him, and they had turned about together, the way would have been straight and all would have been well.

_Damn _him and his confounded temper – Loki hit a barrier and stumbled backward.

Regaining his balance, he appraised the path before him. The thing he'd crashed against was invisible. Even knowing it was there, there was no way to see it. He reached and traced out its edges with his hand. His heart pounded giddily in his ears, making it hard to think, but he had to slow down, or this wouldn't work. The passage had to be treated with respect when it made an offer. One couldn't just blast through it.

Sif may have gone astray here, that was why the barrier had come.

May… It would be comforting to have anything like certainty.

But the odds were dramatically better for that, especially since it was his first time in this tunnel and he'd shown it nothing but respect yet – save for the fact that he'd smashed into this gate…

Regardless. He could go straight through, on to the door that would lead him back to the ruins, or he could open the path it offered, in the hopes of finding his missing friend.

His friend. He shook his head. Loki didn't have friends.

He spoke the runes, then pushed aside the barrier. Hopefully, this wasn't a trick, and Sif would not be far on the other side.

Three tunnels branched off before him, all of them dimmer than the one he'd come from, all of them exactly the same as the others. He reached behind him, and found the barrier back in place. That was how Sif would have found it. He'd forgotten to mark the entranceway once, years before, and he remembered it well. You turn about and begin walking, and by the time the trap appears, the way out of it is blocked, and you may only go forward. No amount of magic can override the barriers, once closed. The creator herself would be hard-pressed to out-work her passage, once established.

All three tunnels were the same. Sif would have realized that the passage had changed, she would have tried to go back and found the way blocked. She would have gone forward. She would have thought that the middle passage, being straight before her, would be the right one, and – not knowing the treachery of the tunnels – she would have taken it.

He started down the middle passage, feeling for the call of the doorway. It wasn't in front of him, but he could feel it, and that had to count for something. They had some time. The mark he'd placed would hold…for a while, at any rate.

The path before him was straight, and absolutely empty, which meant that she had to have passed through another barrier…or taken another path entirely. He wasn't allowed to back-track until he'd reached a dead-end or chosen to follow the path back to the entranceway. There was nothing for it, so he went on.

He couldn't blame her. She didn't know what she was doing and would think for a time that she was merely headed back home. The barriers wouldn't show up to her. They stopped him to warn him, but, not knowing her touch, they would do her no such courtesy. 'Skald or mage' had been more than a clue, it was a warning, but it was one he knew so well he'd take it for granted and hadn't bothered to mention it to her. He cursed himself for his witless temper. If he hadn't gone on so far ahead of her, she wouldn't have been able to slip away from him and none of this would have come to pass. Until she was free of the tunnel, her life was on his head and he knew it.

He came to two more barriers exactly the same as the first, each offering three branching tunnels. Each time he took the center. The second was exactly the same as the first, but the third was less smooth than the other two, a few torches had blown out along the way, and the floor was uneven and rocky.

"Blast it, Sif, how far did you go?"

But he couldn't blame her.

His anxiety grew with each barrier he came through without a sight of her. He'd only gone on for about a minute, how had she managed to get this far ahead?

But he knew that the tunnel, once awake, would play with time. Not enough to cause lasting damage – there was no way to go forward or back – but enough that one couldn't trust one's perceptions, no matter how accurate they had ever been.

The next barrier he came through lead to darkness. The previous tunnels had gotten dimmer and dimmer, so he wasn't really surprised by it. He was glad for his eyes. He had always managed to see well in the dark. It was one of the few things in which he truly excelled. To him, it was dim, but nothing was hazy, and he could see nearly as far as in broad daylight. Even when all the others were blind.

This, was a blessed piece of luck. Sif would be going slowly now, groping her way along. Loki would be hindered in no such way.

Again three tunnels. He could only hope she'd taken the center. He went on.

He saw no one, but here, that bothered him little. This tunnel was not straight. Where the one before had wavered from side to side, this one blatantly curved and turned. The walls still held torches whose fire had long died out. Rooms came off the sides at irregular intervals. Even his eyes could barely pierce the darkness within those rooms. But he wasn't afraid for himself. The tunnel would leave him to strike first.

He reached for the doorway. His mark was still there.

As he went, he began to hear noises. At first, it was barely anything, and he could almost convince himself he'd imagined it.

Almost.

He lengthened his stride.

He came around another corner and ran into her. She was crouched near the wall and he nearly fell over top of her. She spun around, knife up. He remembered that there was no way for her to see him clearly and he used the darkness to his advantage, disarming her before she could bleed him.

"Sif, it's me."

He flicked a quick flame to life in his hand, then winked it out. In its light she recognized him and relaxed, collapsing against the wall. She was breathing hard.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," she whispered, "Do that again."

"I can't," he knelt down, searching the shadows of the ground for her knife, "It was risky enough the first time. Why in Hel's name did you have to run off?"

"I thought I could find my way back,"

"Still so sure?"

She gave a weak laugh.

"In the future, when lost, stop and wait _there_ for rescue."

She laughed again, "I'll remember that," then, voice stronger, pushing herself off of the wall, "You lost my knife,"

His fingers met with the cold metal and he pressed it into her hand.

"How did you - ?"

"I can see, Sif. Sheath it until you have eyes."

She did. He reached out and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. "How?" she asked.

"It's one of my special gifts."

He let go of her hand and started walking back the way they'd come, searching for the doorway. It took him an alarming moment, but he found it.

"Loki,"

"What?" she hadn't moved from where she stood by the wall.

"Keep talking," she murmured, "I can't see,"

He went back and offered her his hand, a hand he realized she couldn't see. "Do you trust me?"

There was a pause, then wryly, "Not really."

"Thank you for your honesty."

She laughed, then, "How am I supposed to know I won't say something and make you leave me here?"

"My word won't count for much, will it?"

"No, but it'll have to."

He took her hand and her fingers tightened around his. She left the wall and began to move down the tunnel.

"And how am _I_ supposed to know you won't sneak away?"

"Beyond the fact that I can't see?" she felt her way to another smooth place on the floor, "I only went back because you ran off."

"Me? Ran off?" He reached again for the doorway, and – thank the Norns – this time it answered immediately.

"Yes you. I was worried that something like this would happen, so I asked you about it, and you had a little temper tantrum and decided to run off."

"Leaving aside the entire indignity of the idea –"

"Yours," she interrupted, "not mine."

"Whoever's idea it was! And I do _not_ have 'temper tantrums', that's Thor's job –" Sif laughed and he continued, "You became worried that you would leave in a temper of your own and get lost?"

"I didn't realize it would swallow me."

"That's why I told you _I_ could take you back."

"I thought that was you rubbing in my face that I was a girl and would need an escort."

"I would never," he answered, "The fact that you're a lady has nothing to do with it." She stumbled, gripping his hand fiercely and he helped her along the rough ground, "Though I must say, you do play the part rather well."

She laughed in spite of herself, "I'm going to just –"

"What?" he asked, "Leave me here in the dark? Where I can't see? I have you neatly trapped, Lady."

"Just you wait until I can see what I'm doing."

"Oh yes? What will you do then?"

"I'll give you the hiding your mother should have to curb your fresh tongue."

She tripped again.

He laughed, "Too bad you'll have to wait."

"When I asked you to keep talking I didn't –" she looked sharply up, "Loki."


	6. Chapter 6

The dark was trouble enough. She had thought that by pressing through, eventually it would give way and let her out. In the stories, the trials were at their worst just before the hero worked his way free.

The darkness was not the worst.

The tunnels were dark mouths, and she could only see vague patches of blackness within. She steeled herself, and – as she had every time up till now – she stepped into the center tunnel.

The path had been rough and twisted in ways the previous ones were not. She found this troubling, and thought several times to go back, but she'd already tried in the previous tunnels, and she didn't want to prolong this blackness one moment.

That was before the noises started.

At first they were vague murmurings and whispers that graduated to creaks and groans. She could hear _something_ moving beyond her line of sight. Once she felt a breath of wind past her shoulder and cheek, wind like the movement of some creature.

_Now I know what it is to be hunted._

Sif began to be afraid. She was well trained in various weapons and forms of defense – including the use of her knife. But there was precious little she could do in the dark, and no art she knew to give sight to her blind eyes.

Her heart was up somewhere in her throat, beating in her temples, and the darkness pressed against her on all sides. She wanted to run, but dared not. She kept her hand to the wall, and kept on.

She was moving at quite a pace in this way before she turned an abrupt corner, tripped, and landed painfully hard on her knee. For a moment, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stand, and panic rose like bile in her throat. She lay still for the space of a minute, then pushed herself up and leaned against the wall. Her breath rasped loudly in and out of her throat. In the dark, she felt the wound, and tested it.

She was ashamed of herself. It was barely a bruise. The impact and the dark had made a bigger thing of it than it was.

Hardly was her panic quelled, when she was given good reason to revive it again.

Sif heard a footstep.

Down the tunnel, behind her, she could hear _something_ approaching. And this time it was no phantom. She had been able to convince herself that the others had all been figments of her mind – but this one was of a different kind, more solid.

Sif drew her knife.

Whatever it was, it was coming fast.

Then it was above her, solid weight hitting her shoulder. Her knife was up. Something gripped her wrist, twisting the blade out of her grasp.

"Sif, it's me."

A little green light flickered up in his palm, casting his face and the tunnel in an eerie glow.

Sif collapsed against the wall again, almost sobbing. But the light was gone too soon.

"Are you hurt?"

His voice was a blessed relief after the silence and her own breathing and the _noises_ all around her, "No. Do that again."

"I can't," he said. She could hear him moving in the dark. She couldn't tell what he was doing and she _didn't care_. He was there and that was enough. She thought – in that moment – that she loved him. But – she immediately countered herself – that had nothing to do with him. In that moment, she'd have loved him if he'd been a frost giant. It would pass with the dark.

She thought briefly of the old stories – how often the girls wed their rescuers. She thought maybe she could see why.

Loki took her hand and – clinging to it in a way she knew she'd be ashamed of when they were out of the dark – she allowed him to lead her back. He'd marked the doorway as they'd come in. He had to know how to get out. He talked to her, light and flippant, and she gratefully allowed herself to become distracted by his mockery and teasing. It had annoyed her in the past. But now, in the dark, it struck her as an admirable quality. To thumb one's nose at the dark and whatever horrors it housed…it was bravery. Not like that of the others, the way many of the boys she trained with would attack a ravening beast twice their size. But now that she thought about it, that seemed rather more like stupidity, though she was sure she'd come back to her senses and change her mind once they were out in the light once again.

Then there was something. She noticed that the sounds around them had stopped. Far from comforting her, the knowledge slipped something cold into the pit of her stomach. The birds vanish when a predator lurks in the trees. A patch of the dark to her upper left seemed much too dark all of a sudden, and she could have sworn she saw it move.

"Loki,"

He must have seen it too, because next thing she knew the entire tunnel was flooded with a deep green light. Loki had cast out his hand, throwing fire at the long-dead torches that lined the walls which were dry and caught the fire greedily. But Sif barely noticed that.

What she _did_ see, was the front and forelegs of a giant black spider – horrible and hairy – at _least _twice the size of a grown man – leering over them from a hole in the ceiling of the tunnel.

It flinched back from the sudden light – too much for _its_ eyes – making a grating kind of shriek that set every hair on Sif's body on end.

"Sif, run!"

She didn't need to be told twice. And she was dizzyingly glad that Loki's chosen color for fire was green. She didn't understand _why_, but right now she didn't care. The color was dark enough that it could light her way without dazzling her eyes.

Screaming, the creature pulled itself back from the hole, disappearing backward into the dark wherever it had come from. She tried not to think about the other tunnels she could have taken when she entered this blackness.

The way was rough and twisting, but Sif hadn't fought her brothers for first place every day they raced through the woods to be taken down by rough terrain.

"Through here," Loki gestured to a gaping hole of a doorway to the right and, taking the hand he offered her, she dove into the dark.

"What was that?" she panted.

"Shh," Loki stopped. A flame lit in his hand and Sif scanned the surroundings in the glow. Rubble surrounded them, like this was the ruins of a once-great palace. All was stone and dust and earth. The ceiling was lost in shadow, as was one dark corner which made her uneasy.

"This way," he pointed, "Come on."

The light winked out, but she'd seen the way the rubble had been spread, and how he'd managed to lead her through it without her having the slightest suspicion. She could trust his lead.

She heard something crash a ways behind them and an awful – angry – shriek.

They re-doubled their pace.

Suddenly Loki stopped and she came to a skidding halt beside him.

"What is it?" she gasped.

He was equally breathless, "A door."

She saw the growing green of the letters he traced, and then it parted like a curtain and she could see a lighter tunnel beyond.

She leapt through and Loki came behind her, closing the gateway with another glowing sign.

"Have we lost it?"

He shook his head, panting, "Bought time,"

And they practically flew down the corridor.

The tunnel twisted and forked a dizzying number of times, but Loki never slowed and Sif followed him, grateful finally to be able to see. Let that monstrosity show its ugly face now.

There was another gate, and the tunnel beyond it was bright as a dim room.

They had to be close.

"Through here,"

They ducked under a low doorway.

No sooner was she through, than the wall beside Sif exploded, sending huge rocks and tumbles of dirt flying past her. She hit the ground. Next thing she saw was the underbelly of the huge creature hunting them and the surging, rippling legs. She struggled for her knife, but couldn't reach it, twisted against the ground as she was.

There was a silver glimmer above her, and a soft, wet sound. The monster screamed and reared back on its hind legs, reeling toward its attacker. Scrambling free of the debris, she glanced up in time to just catch the motion of Loki's hand as he flung another knife.

Her foot was caught.

There was no way for him to fend it off for long – how many knives could he have?

Her foot was caught.

She scrabbled at it when suddenly there was another pair of hands helping her own. Loki was crouched beside her, he hauled her to her feet.

The spider hit the far wall and the simulacra he'd placed vanished.

"Damn," it whirled with alarming speed for something of its size and thundered toward them. He threw out his hand behind her shoulder, "Vythja!"

Brightness tore a hole through the air behind the pile of rubble. Loki hauled her to the top, then pushed her and she fell, breath knocked cleanly out of her, onto stone tiling. Loki landed, hard, on his back a little ways away from her. The gateway closed with snap, cutting off a last angry scream from their pursuer.

Gulls screeched in the distance, and a light breeze ruffled her hair. Her breathing was hard and uneven. The ground was firm. All around them was peaceful and silent. She could hear Loki's labored breath beside her. They were in the old ruins, where all of this had begun.

She flopped down with her back against the time-worn rocks, and after a breathless, panting moment, she began to laugh.

They were alive.

She struggled up to where she could sit, facing the doorway. Loki had sat up too, and both were laughing in the helpless, giddy way that is so catching when one has been afraid.

They'd made it out alive.

Once she'd caught her breath, she hit him, "You told me you were unarmed."

He chuckled, cherishing the spot, "No I didn't. You did."

She rolled her eyes, "You could have told me I was wrong,"

"What fun would that have been?" He flopped back down.

"Oh, that was your idea of fun?" She leaned over him.

He waved her away, then pushed himself back up into a sitting position. Brushing himself off, he looked at her slant-wise, smirking, "Good thing I know so many _tricks_,"

Pulling her hair back from her face, she turned on him, "That's what it was all about?"

Loki opened his mouth, seeming very much like he wished he hadn't spoken, but she cut him off.

"I almost got killed for your hurt pride? You goose!" she laughed, "You proud, sensitive, _goose_!"

Loki said nothing and let her laugh. Glancing at his flushed face, she thought he could see the joke.

She decided that she'd let him off and a few moments later lay back down against the rocks, "How'd you get us out, anyway?"

"The runes can be spoken."

His voice was dull, all of a sudden. She couldn't tell if it was fatigue, the way he had a hand up to his face, or something else entirely, so she sat up, "Then why didn't you do it before?"

He had his knees up and was leaning against them, playing with the grass pushing up between the rocks, "It's harder. And we had to be in the right place."

"Are you alright?"

He gave her a strange look, "I'm fine."

"Good," she grinned at him, "For a minute I thought I'd hurt your feelings again, and Norns only know what you'd do to me this time!"

He gave a breath of a laugh, "I thought we made that clear –"

"I know, I know. It was my own stupid fault," she plucked a stem of tall grass growing beside her and traced a pattern with it on the ground, "Thank you," she said at last, solemn now that the first wave of relief had passed, "I don't know how long I would have lasted down there."

He didn't answer, and after a moment, she looked up. He was watching something on the ground that was hidden from her eyes by his foot. He sensed that she was watching and his eyes flicked to her. He nodded once, then turned back to his foot – or whatever was beyond it – not seeming to know how to respond. Finally, he gave up trying, shook himself and stood up. He offered her his hand, "They'll be wondering where we've been."


	7. Chapter 7

Loki was busy for several days following their adventure. He'd missed both lessons and appointments, and all had to be made up. His teachers were unhappy. They asked for explanation. Loki made something up, or just gave them a smile with too many teeth and told them he'd been, "Practicing." He wasn't sorry in the slightest.

In the evening, he snuck out again to the passage. It was a portal, he was sure of it. But another thing he was sure of was that Groa had not completed it alone. It had marks of dwarf-work on it. He wondered why she had enlisted their help. He was unsure how many realms it had been built for, but he'd read that if one knew the way of it, one could build a path to any realm from a pre-existing portal.

He told no one of his discovery. He'd asked Sif to do the same, and she'd looked at him, grey eyes snapping in the dim light, like he'd suggested that she would think to do something crazy.

The next day, at a feast in the great hall, Loki saw her across the tables. Laughing, she looked over and caught sight of him. She waved.

Maybe he did have a friend.

He didn't let himself to dwell on that for too long.

**~.~**

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	8. Chapter 8

Part Two – Miscommunication

There was a sound toward the far end of the room.

Loki listened.

He'd been sprawled on his bed, reading, for the better part of the past hour.

The sound came again.

Intrigued, Loki laid aside his book and went silently across the room and into the next.

Sif stood with her back to him, looking down over the edge of the balcony.

Surprised and pleased, he decided it was probably best not to show it. He folded his arms, "Well isn't this an unexpected pleasure."

She whipped around, then laughed, "They told me you'd be here."

"How did you get in?"

She grinned, "I have my tricks, too."

Loki wasn't sure what quite to make of that.

"I need your help."

"Oh?" Loki walked around her to the balcony, and peered down the way she had been looking. She was talented. There was hardly a sign she'd been there, "I must commend you. Even Thor hasn't thought to climb in."

~.~

Sif was beginning to think that she really did hate Vali. If she had to endure one more snide comment out of his ugly face she was going to….

Come to think of it, there really wasn't much she _could_ do. She was faster, but he was much stronger, and the other boys saw nothing the matter with him. As if she'd actually ask for their help. That's just what she needed, to run off and find a champion to fight him off for her. That would _really _help. It wouldn't validate his comments even the tiniest little –

She stopped. She knew someone who disliked Vali every bit as much as she did.

Sif smiled.

~.~

Climbing up the wall to the balcony had been easier than she had expected. Loki's room looked out on the quietest, most abandoned section of the entire city. There was nothing but vegetation, and hardly anybody ever actually went there. There were barely any chinks or cracks in the masonry, but, fortunately, the vines had found something to hold to. And, for their efforts, so had she.

Thor and the others had been planning some game, while Sif had sat idly by, sulking – yes, she would admit that she had been sulking – after Vali's most recent attacks. Vidar had wondered aloud where Loki had taken himself off to. Vali had snorted and answered in a way Sif was ashamed to admit she'd _heard_, much less _said _, especially of his prince. Vali truly was talented. Sif didn't know how he managed it. Thor turned on him darkly and cautioned him to think carefully of whose family he spoke. Thor was every bit as big as Vali was, and besides, Thor was the first-born of the realm. Vali had been wise enough then to hold his tongue. Thor had told Vidar that, most likely, Loki was in his chambers, he'd had some work he'd wanted to finish.

That had struck a spark in Sif's mind, and it caught flame quickly. She rose and began to walk away, "Sif," Thor had caught her arm, "will you not join us?"

"I," her heart fluttered and she chided herself, "I can't. I'm needed elsewhere. I – maybe tomorrow."

"Alright," he had nodded, "tomorrow then." He'd given her his lop-sided grin, and gone back to the others.

Shaking herself, Sif had almost run. She was blushing and furiously glad that the others had been busy among themselves and wouldn't have seen. They already talked. Then she had stopped. The halls were ever-peopled. What would they say if they saw her heading toward the princes' rooms? Sif did not want to think about it.

So she had chosen a short-cut.

Finally, she swung herself up and over the balcony-ledge, slipping down onto the ground. She straightened, a little out of breath, and went to peer over the side. She hadn't dared look back as she'd climbed, and wanted to see how well she'd fared.

"Well isn't this an unexpected pleasure,"

Sif was startled, but it was only Loki, leaning against the wall that lead to the balcony. He must have heard her. She laughed, "They told me you'd be here."

"How did you get in?"

"I have my tricks too," he gave her a wry look, part-way amused, but said nothing, "I need your help."

"Oh?" he pushed away from the wall and peered over the ledge the way she'd come, "I must commend you," he drawled, turning back to face her, "even Thor hasn't thought to climb in," decidedly amused now, he spread his arms, "As I have nothing better to do presently, I am at thy disposal, Lady. How may I be of service to thee?"

"Vali."

His face darkened.

"I know that you dislike him as much as I do, and you owe me after that last incident,"

"Haven't we been through this?" he protested. She could see him laughing, "I thought we'd established –"

"That you are a proud and silly boy who needs to better control his temper? Yes. But now you can make it up to me."

He didn't bother arguing it but asked, "He's been causing you trouble again?"

"He hadn't stopped."

Loki nodded and folded his arms, green eyes glittering, "Go on."


	9. Chapter 9

Neither Sif, nor Loki would ever admit whose idea it was.

First, there were letters delivered – one at a time, at odd intervals – to Hermod, a young member of the Einherjar, who had only just finished his training a season or two before, and who, on an unrelated note, had two unique characteristics. The first was that – for whatever reason – Vali had chosen to make no secret of his admiration for him. The second entailed Hermod's own likes and tendencies. His likes – for example – the liking he'd taken to Sif over the past few weeks. And tendencies – like his tendency to flirt and play with a girl, or his tendency to walk directly into something without giving it much thought.

All details aside, letters were delivered to Hermod's room. None of them signed. But on several nights, Hermod walked into his room, to find that a note had been slid under his door – notes that gave him great pleasure to read, even if the handwriting was a bit harder to decipher that one might expect from a girl. Haakon, who was bunked in the same quarters, thought it all great fun, but could guess surely no more than Hermod could. Though surely a girl who trained with warriors might be expected to have a similar weakness in the writing field.

Sif's manner, incidentally, became quite different toward Vali during this period, as if overnight. While the others were about, she was her old self, but – it occurred to Vali after several days – she seemed to be seeking him out more often. She would stand or sit beside him, or ask to be placed in his team. On more than one occasion, Vali caught her looking at him, and not in the murderous way he had become accustomed to. It began to appear to him that there might be a few perks to having a female as one's training companion. So, when Sif came up to him after practice one day bidding him silence and smiling in that new way she had and handed him a note, he read it and did exactly as it asked.

That evening, Hermod also discovered a letter. This one promised a revelation, if only he would come down to the stables after dark. The secret composer would reveal herself, and the secret by which he would know it was she was that she would approach him, and ask for someone else by name.

He thought it an odd arrangement, but – as he commented to Haakon – these palace girls did have odd ways. It was best just to laugh with one's fellows and allow them their eccentricities.

As the reader has surely guessed, Sif did not meet Vali in the stables that night. Nor did Hermod discover a maiden waiting with fluttering heart for his embrace.

But, largely through Hermod's amazement, Haakon's amusement, and to Vali's consternation, rumors spread.

Vali did come away with his suspicions. He cornered Loki one day, pressing him up against the wall, "I know you had something to do with it."

"What have you ever done that might cause me to wish you harm?" his voice was low and eyes glittering. Suddenly he grinned, "But we may wish to have this discussion elsewhere. I hear someone coming and I do believe you have enough people talking as it is."

Loki had always been skilled at talking himself out of a well-deserved hiding.

Unfortunately, the plan did have one flaw. And it was not an inherent flaw. It really wasn't what one might call a flaw at all, so much as a slip-up.

Hermod, being a new member of the Einherijar, was bunked with the others in a reserved place in the palace. His was the sixteenth door from the entrance to the main hallway. Arik, who happened to be a friend of Thor's, shared the fifteenth room.

When one hears voices coming closer – about to turn into the passage you are in, in fact – and one has a clandestine task that must be completed with all speed…what is the difference between counting fifteen and sixteen? Only a single digit. It was an honest mistake, one anybody might make.

But it was one that Loki would pay for.

And it wouldn't have been a mistake worth mention at all, if he hadn't gotten too worked up and pleased with himself in the first place.

Now, Arik, besides having become a friend of Thor's since entering the service, also considered himself a good friend of Uller, who was Sif's second-to-eldest brother. They had lived on neighboring farms. Uller had been the one to bring Sif into the city, to beg a place in the hall for her on account of their long-deceased mother's friendship with the AllMother. Sif had been accepted – much to her own dismay – and after bidding her farewell, but before actually taking his leave, Uller had sought out his friend and found him, asking – on account of their friendship – that he keep an eye on his baby sister.

When Arik found the note – unsealed, and with no address – slipped beneath his door, he sat down on his cot to read it.

Now, whether it was through some fault of Loki's excitement at the nearing closure of the game, or through some word Sif herself had dropped, Arik thought he knew from whom the note had come. Not knowing for sure, however, he went to the next room and handed it off to the one whom the salutation indicated. The next day, however, he found Sif. Bringing her aside, he asked her what she was about and if she really knew what it was she was mixing herself up in. She laughed, dispelling his worry by telling him that the letters were not from her, but from Loki. She'd caught him delivering one a few days before.

Sif would say no more, and now _quite_ puzzled, Arik mentioned this news to Thor. Thor was no more appraised of the situation than he. Not sure whether to be alarmed or amused, he asked his brother about it. Growing angry, Loki had demanded to know where he had heard such a thing. Thor told him how Arik had heard it from Sif – who _said_ she had caught him in the act. At this news the frown melted from Loki's face. "Did she," he more said than asked, and – laughing – strolled away, leaving Thor more puzzled than he had been before.

Neither Arik nor Thor were the kind to spread tales – at least on Thor's part, not tales that were barely understood. So the incident went no farther.

Well, not in that direction at least.


	10. Chapter 10

During her time at the palace, Sif had taken to helping out with the horses. She loved them. She could ride very well and enjoyed every minute of her time caring for the animals. It reminded her of her home. She had her group of horses, and the stable hands knew to leave them for her. Though she often came at odd hours to work by herself, she always came.

Today, although it was late, she was not alone. A white gander had met her at the entrance to the stables. He'd been standing regally at the door as she walked up, and followed her as she went in, for all the world as though he'd been waiting for her. He watched her as she worked through her group. Standing there, in all his pompous solemnity, keeping an eye on her as though to make sure she had done the job to his satisfaction.

As she left, he followed her all the way to the edge of the stable-yard.

That evening, when she came again, her escort was waiting for her once more.

"You again," she greeted him at the doorway, "Well, come on."

She bent down to check on the dark mare's hoof – she'd noticed something odd about it earlier – and when she straightened, her gander had been joined by a goose.

Again they followed her to the edge of the yard. And the next day she was met there by three of them.

Altogether by the end of it, she was followed by five. On the third morning – the second time the fifth had shown himself – they did not halt at their usual point, but followed her in a wavering procession. She tried to shoo them off, but they wouldn't go. Nothing she could do would stop them from following her. If she darted into a building very fast and snapped the door closed behind her, sometimes she could escape, but not always. The geese were surprisingly agile creatures and often she would slip through a doorway only to turn her back to it and find an expectant guest.

That afternoon, they were executing cavalry maneuvers. Sif leapt onto her mount, to the great consternation of her flock. Thor, only just arriving, leading his horse, looked at her with raised eyebrows, "New friends?" he asked.

"They're a nuisance. I don't know what I did to gain such devotion."

As they began to ride toward the field where they would begin their training, the geese fell in line behind her, hissing menacingly at the horses who stepped too close. The horses took the threat quite seriously and kept clear.

Thor laughed, "I've never met anyone with such a loyal following among the animal kind," he shrugged, then turning said over his shoulder, "Well, except for Loki. Remember when Father's horse was young, and how devotedly it followed you?"

"I do indeed."

Sif turned around and found Loki mounted with some others who were following behind. He was smirking at her, guiding his horse around the geese.

She narrowed her eyes at him, which made him laugh and only strengthened her suspicions. She turned away, "I didn't expect to see you here today," she said, in lieu of mentioning it.

"Father thought it good I should come," he shrugged carelessly, "So here I am."

"Here you are," she muttered, barely audible, and spurred her horse forward.

Behind her, she heard Thor ask his brother dubiously, "Well? What now?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you mean."

~.~

They only followed her for another day or two after that, and only in full strength that one day. Gradually, they began to wander off. Sif was glad to see them go. It made her life much more simple. Having no official task, she helped where she could, and often, that would be in the kitchens. It was a welcome appointment. She had been mistress of the kitchens in her parents' home ever since her mother had become sick all those years ago. It was familiar work, and pleasant to her. Geese – well, _live_ geese – were not allowed.

She could guess where the 'goose plague' had come from and – although it had been amusing – she had to find a way to pay him back. Nothing too harmful or humiliating. It was always best with these things to return in kind…She was musing on her problem as she walked toward the stables, when she found a nest. It was tucked against the stable walls in a place barely discernable behind the great door that always stood open. There was no hen or goose about, so Sif crouched down and slid her arm into the slit between door and wall. The eggs were warm to her touch. Glancing about to make sure that no one was watching, she plucked one from the nest and slipped it carefully into her pocket.

Loki would be getting an extra special surprise on his plate this night.

~.~

Loki had slipped and left the note under the wrong door. That was what had started all of this. The funny thing was that he hadn't known a thing about it until a few days later when Thor had asked him if he'd been sending love letters to an Einheriar guard.

At first he was shocked that Sif had dared say such a thing. He was a prince, and beyond that, he was her accomplice – or – what was more the case – she, his. After a moment though, this wore off.

"Did she?"

It was a game that two could play.

Geese were simple creatures, and it was easy enough to charm them to his whims. It was fun to watch them chase after her while it held, gaining more and more control over them, and then gradually less and less. Father had just happened to ask Thor about the progress of their training, and upon hearing what it was they were to be doing, had told Loki that it would be a lesson most beneficial to him as well. Knowing better than to argue, Loki had complied. He'd never been happier for one of his father's veiled orders.

The way she looked at him, he knew she had guessed, but she offered no attempt at vengeance, and made no mention of his agency in the game. He wondered what was going on inside her blond head.

He found out when Sif invited him to sit with her and the others at a feast a few days later. They had all trained together that day, and it had been enjoyable, even for him.

The raw egg that burst all over his plate was less pleasant.

Between tasks over the next day or two, Loki found _his_ answer.

Sif found an egg on _her_ plate, that hatched.

The look on her face was gratifyingly astonished.

When he found a large, hairy spider hiding on his plate the next night, and Sif grinning at him across the others at the table, it was his turn.

Over the papers splayed across the desk in his room that night, he wondered about it. He'd never had someone match him play-for-play. If he played a trick on Thor, Thor would match him back ten-fold. Sif wasn't trying to make him stop, or to humiliate him.

She made him wonder.

~.~

It was barely morning when Sif woke to care for the horses. Quickly she rose and dressed. Once she was satisfied with herself, she went through the door and found she was coated with sticky, stringy cobwebs that had been strung up all across her doorway.

Once the surprise wore off, she wasn't sure if she was more angry or amused. After twenty minutes of attempting to pull the sticky threads off of her, she was sure. Giving up, she brushed herself off as best she could and headed out.

The webbing had been on the inside of the door. She must have some kind of magic to blame for it. Both for its existence and the fact that she hadn't managed to feel it when she reached through for the doorknob. He must have come while she was asleep – maybe he had climbed through _her _window. She was fairly sure that she distinctly did not like that – that he could sneak in to her room to jape her while she was asleep.

Plucking a stray strand of web that had floated down her forehead out of her eye she remembered once hearing Thor teasing his little brother, 'Ragnarok could be come and gone during the night and he'd be none the wiser,' She hoped that it was true.

~.~

Getting the paints from Gerda was easier than Sif had expected, though the fond way the woman had looked at her made her uneasy. She didn't like people having daft ideas about her, she wasn't _that_ kind of girl, but it couldn't be helped.

It was very late – better early morning than late night – when she eased herself to the floor of the balcony just outside of his rooms. There was no sound but for her own breathing and the soft night insects.

He kept the balcony door open – which was lucky for her – she hadn't even thought to worry about that – and crept in. She found him, twisted in a snarl of blankets on his bed. Seeing his face – peaceful and still as he slept – she remembered her brothers, and how one night she had given them war paint with the berries she had picked too late in their season. How her father had laughed!

Thinking of her father made her chest hurt, so she shook her head, unslung the bag from her shoulder, took one last look at her sleeping victim, and began.


	11. Chapter 11

"Loki!"

Slipping a finger between the pages he leaned lazily over the side of the balcony railing to where he could see her, "I thought you were afraid of spiders."

She laughed, "Only when they're bigger than I. Get down here. I don't want to shout."

He smirked at her, "Well then why don't you climb up? You've done it before."

"You know very well why," she folded her arms, "I'm not about to trust myself to your vine-snakes again just for your amusement." After her last attempt on his person, he'd thought it expedient to establish some form of protection. Apparently, she was fonder of spiders than serpents.

"I though you liked me," he sulked.

"Thor sent me," she said, ignoring him. "We are to go to fetch some relic from the forest. He said that you know the place better than anyone."

He sighed, "And here I'd thought you'd missed me,"

"Are you coming or not?"

"Well," Loki laid aside the book, "since _Thor _calls,"

Sif laughed, "Hurry up. We're to leave as soon as we can."

~.~

It was two nights later when Loki jerked upright, his heart pounding dizzily somewhere in his throat. The ground was hard, and the fire had burned away to nothing hours ago.

"Easy,"

It was Sif.

"Sorry, I didn't know if I should wake you or not."

He realized that he had his knife in his hand and he put it down.

"Are you alright?"

He let out a breath through his nose, "Did I wake you?"

In the dark beside him she shook her head, "No," but there was something odd about her voice that he was only just noticing.

"What is it?"

She made a sound almost like a laugh and smeared her hand across her cheek, "It's nothing. I was just," she sighed, "Just thinking about things that I know better than to bother."

"Have you slept at all?"

He saw the lopsided way she smiled at him in the dark, "Dreams aren't kind to all of us, are they?"

"No, they're not."

All was silent a moment, when suddenly Sif asked, "What was it that you were dreaming of?" before he could contrive answer, she continued, "I'll tell if you will," then, just as quickly as before she countered herself, "Never mind. It was rude of me to ask."

She faced herself toward the fire, and Loki pushed up into a proper sitting position. He wasn't entirely sure he wasn't still dreaming.

She had her knees drawn up and was staring at the smoldering embers of the fire. "Do you know where I lived?" she asked at length, "I mean, before I came to the city,"

Loki shook his head, he had hardly taken any notice of her before she began training with the others. When he had joined them – as he occasionally did – he had marveled that his father had allowed a girl to begin training. After watching her, though, he had thought he could understand. His hand was still shaking from the force of the dream she'd waked him from, and he was glad for the dark.

"I lived to the south. In the Barrethorp, a day's ride out from Neppstun. My father raised sheep and cows, and he had great fields of grain. I and my father and his father and all of my brothers were born there…My mother passed on when I was still small. The sicknesses that year were especially bad. My father said that I had it too, and he was so afraid that I would follow after my mother. But I didn't. I made it and he brought me with him everywhere he went after that. I helped him with everything. The nearest farm was two miles away, as the raven flies. Sometimes we would go to help them with their harvest, and they would come for ours. Every winter there was a fair in Neppstun, and we would always go. Once I saw you there," the smile she threw him seemed forced, "You, and the rest of your family. My father leaned down and whispered, 'Now that, Sif, tha is your royal family.' You and Thor were still small, do you remember?"

He could have lied, but he didn't, "We went to many such things when I was a child – my mother loved them – I have a hard time telling one from another."

"It was grand and large and always so busy. Ours was the biggest fair in the Barrethorp. Skalds would troop in from all over the countryside, and they would shout so loud for their stories to be heard that it sounded like the tales were arguing amongst themselves."

"It sounds magnificent. I'm sure if I went back that way I'd remember it."

"Not if you expected the place to bring it back," her voice was toneless, "Two winters ago, the sickness returned, stronger than in anyone's memory. You wouldn't recognize it."

He felt he should say something, but had no notion of what.

"And the next winter was so hard, that we lost many of our animals. My father said, 'Tha's alright, we'll sell our grain this summer and buy them back.' But that summer was the worst,"

She was quiet for a long while. Finally, Loki asked, "Sickness, again?"

Sif shook her head, "Fire" she took a breath, "No one knew or no one would say how, but our fields caught fire and the barn burned. Everything burned to the ground."

She brushed her hair back behind her ear and Loki saw the glittering of tears on her face.

"Was anyone –"

"No. Hardly anyone was hurt, much less killed. We had been at the neighboring farm for the day. When we came back, everything was burning. Thranstein – my brother – he ran for the well. He ran but my father put a hand on his arm, 'It's no good.' Everything burned."

She shuddered at the memory. Loki wanted to do something for her, but hadn't the slightest idea what. He felt awkward and off-center. His mother would know exactly what to do, but unfortunately, he'd inherited only some of her gifts. And while magic was pretty, he really didn't think it could help him in any way here.

After a time she continued, "We went back and spent the night at Uran's farm. They were sorry for us and they offered us all a place while we figured out what to do next. A place to live while we built back our farm. But my father," she stopped, then started again, "My father wouldn't have it. We stayed with them for three nights. Then my father and brothers went away to the north, where there was good hunting. He said they would live with the Canoi. I wanted to go with them, but he sent Uller to bring me to the palace, with instructions to meet up with him later. My mother was a friend of the queen in their youth, and he hoped that on merit of that she would offer me sanctuary," her voice was thin, "She did," she took a breath, "And every night I dreamed of the fire. They come less often now, the dreams, but they still come," she hugged her knees closer, "And its damned nights like this when I remember hunting with my father. He would take me with them when I was small. I know how to hunt. I don't know why…" She shook herself, "I'm sorry," rubbed a hand across her face, "I shouldn't bother you with all my 'tales of woe',"

The laugh she offered was shaky. Loki wanted to tell her that it was alright. That he understood. That she could talk all night if she wanted, he wasn't likely to sleep anyway. But what came out when he opened his mouth was, "I dreamed I was freezing to death."

That was entirely the wrong thing to say. He flushed. He didn't want to talk about his dreams. If she did, well and fine for her.

"Do you always dream of freezing?"

Surprised, the words came out before he had time to prevent them, "No. No, but," he was saying all the wrong things. He didn't know what had come over him, he distinctly did _not_ want to tell her anything more, "That just seems to be the Norns favorite."

"What is it like? Freezing, I mean,"

"Cold."

The answer was so immediate and so obvious that they both laughed. And the laughter loosened something in his chest that made it easier. A part of him knew that he'd regret it, but a larger part thought he would regret it more if he didn't.

"It's cold, and hard. There are rocks all around. I can hear something moving in the distance. Whatever it is, it's large. I'm always alone," he glanced over at her, she was watching the embers. He drew his knees in closer, "Sometimes I know how I get there, or where I'm supposed to be instead, but not always. It gets colder and colder, and there's no way out of the hole I'm in. Sometimes I can hear people calling me, but usually all I can hear is laughter – deep and rough that makes it hard to listen to anything else. It echoes off the rocks and sounds like a thousand voices all in one, and I can't think right. I'm still trying to get out, even though I know it's hopeless. I'm being hunted, if the…thing…doesn't find me first, the cold will take me. Then I noticed my hands…It didn't hurt…It should have hurt, but it didn't…they were blue, like freezing, and the color bleeds up my arms and into my chest. I know that that's not how a person freezes and I try and convince myself that it's not real, but it all slows down and I'm dying and it doesn't matter…"

"Are you afraid, or do you care at all while it is happening?"

There was silence a moment before he said, "I am always afraid."

She laughed, "I wish I could be. I just watch everything burn, and I don't care, and then I wake up and I wonder if it's true. If it ever mattered to me at all."

"Well then, in that case, let's trade."

This time she really laughed.

"Fire and ice," she murmured, "looks like we cancel each other out."

He noticed how close she was. He didn't remember her being that close to him.

What seemed like a long time passed slowly by. Sif was quiet, and Loki knew he'd regret saying anything, and he was trying not to think about it. Someone on the other side of the fire moaned and turned over in his sleep.

"I've never told anyone any of that before," Sif whispered.

"Nor have I."

She looked at him incredulously in the dark, "Really?"

He was troubled by that, "Surprised?"

She shrugged, turning back to the fire again, "I suppose not,"

Loki wasn't satisfied, "Whom would I have told?"

"I don't know, you're so close with your brother, I had just assumed – I don't know – I just assumed you told each other things like that. Or mayhap your mother or father, or some other friend,"

"Certainly not my father," he said it a little too fast, and she raised her brows, tuning to him again. He chose to ignore the implied question, "and I don't really have friends Sif, if you haven't noticed."

"You have me," she offered, then, "Why not tell your family? I'm sure they'd want to help."

Loki was fairly sure that he was not enjoying this conversation anymore, "I don't know, I just don't."

He saw her roll her eyes before she started again, quiet, "I used to tell my father everything, and if he wasn't around, I told one of my brothers. But they're not here anymore."

Loki was glad to have the conversation turn back to her, "Would you tell them if they were?"

She eyed him, "No, now that I'm thinking about it, I wouldn't. What about you? What has your family done that you can't tell them?"

"I just don't want to."

"I don't think that's the truth."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Do you know what I think?"

Loki thought she was getting too much pleasure out of this. He glared sullenly at the ground, "No."

"I think you're afraid of your father's opinions."

He tossed the blade of grass he'd been worrying at into the embers, "Do you."

"And maybe even Thor's too, but I can't understand your mother. I never really knew mine, but if I had a mother like yours, I'd tell her everything."

"She worries enough," he muttered.

"Does that mean I got it right on the other two?"

"No," but he'd said it too fast again, and he knew she'd caught it.

"You know what else I think?"

"I think that you should stop thinking."

She laughed, "I think that you're jealous of Thor. Everyone can see the way that the AllFather treats him. It's not so obvious that he ignores you, but he does, doesn't he?"

Loki was watching what remained of the fire. He wasn't condoning this conversation any farther.

"I think I'd hate my father for that,"

Loki was startled out of his sulk and looked at her.

She didn't appear to have noticed. She shrugged, "I mean, I had three older brothers. If my father had only worked with them, leaving me to teach myself the woman's way, I think that I might have hated him. But as it was..."

"Maybe he sent you here to keep you safe."

"Maybe. But it's not as I would have it."

"He is your father, Sif."

"And you're not angry with yours?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying that he might have left you here _because_ he loves you. Maybe it was hard for him. He did have your brother take you, didn't he? Mayhap it was – is – hard for him as it is for you."

"You didn't see the way he changed."

"Maybe that's proof."

She sighed, "I don't know Loki. Maybe we should just both go to sleep. We have a few hours yet,"

"What," he grinned at her, "this isn't fun when it's turned on you?"

She glared at him, "You know, sometimes you earn your reputation."

"That's your way of saying that I made a good point."

"I'm going to sleep Loki."

She moved away from the fire, then paused, and after a moment turned back, "Thank you,"

She sounded sincere. Puzzled, he turned to face her, "For?"

She shrugged, "You're a good listener."

"Ah," he nodded, "You're welcome, then."

"Aren't you going back to sleep?"  
>"Not just yet."<p>

"Do you want…?"

"No. I'm fine. Go to sleep."

It seemed darker, somehow, with Sif asleep. He didn't mind, he could use some peace to try and puzzle out exactly what it was she had said to him. He was bothered by much of it, and confused by the rest. _…you're afraid…I think I'd hate my father for that…you're jealous of Thor. Everyone can see…You have me…_

It was all too much to think about. He lay down and closed his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Back home again, it seemed as though nothing had changed, save that Vali made less of a nuisance of himself. He was away much of the time, now, training with some errant guard who had been commissioned to coach him.

Sif wondered about what Loki had said to her. She'd been so caught up in her own misery at being left behind that it hadn't occurred to her that her father might be as miserable as she.

For whatever reason, that thought gave her an immense amount of pleasure.

Loki was training with them more and more. Sometimes he blamed his father, and sometimes he just appeared with no explanation. On several occasions, when they needed an extra man, instead of working with a lop-sided team, as they always had before, Sif or Thor would run to find him. Thor was delighted with this. It was clear to Sif how much he enjoyed the company of his little brother, and it was entertaining to watch them interact with each other. It reminded her in some ways of her own brothers. The teasing and shoving, all with the assurance of later retribution that both knew would amount to no more than a boys' game. It didn't hurt to see it now. She missed her own brothers, but not with the aching abandoned feeling she'd become accustomed to.

For the third time in a week, Loki had been sent for, and found in the library. It was the first place anyone thought to look now. Sif laughed at him and teased him about how he loved his books. He commented on her unmaidenly love for weapons. She shrugged, "At least I can't sleep through someone putting my make-up on."

Vidarr was near-by, lacing up his boot, he had had no part in the conversation thus far, but suddenly seemed taken with a fit of coughing.

Thor chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on Loki's shoulder. Loki almost stumbled. He gave her a look, and she shrugged, keeping silent under Thor's new story, "I bet he just might. Remember the time that we…"

The next day, Loki was with them again, this time of his own accord. He was behind her, talking to Otar, a younger member of the group, when Sif opened the weapons cabinet and tumbled backwards suddenly under a torrent of books. As she sprawled on the ground, surveying the damage, she saw that there were only nine or ten, all of them relatively small – only just enough to knock her down –

and they had been perched precariously in the cabinet to fall upon whomever first opened it.

"Sif! Are you alright?"

It was Thor. He reached out and she gave him her hand. "I'm fine." Her heart gave an uncomfortable little start that she prayed no one would notice.

Otar looked alarmed, "I had no idea that you liked books so much."

Sif was trying not to laugh. That boy needed no encouragement, "I don't."

"Well," Loki's mouth twitched, "They certainly seem to have taken a shine to you."

"Loki," Thor groaned.

"What?" Loki hadn't an ounce of remorse within him. Sif wasn't even sure it was an emotion he was capable of.

Fandral, new to the group, tall and blonde, hooted with laughter.

Sif laughed, but Thor wavered between seeing the joke, which he clearly did, and defending her. She brushed herself off, "I'm fine Thor, really," she looked back at Loki, who was still grinning like an imp, "No thanks to you," then again to Thor, "I'll have my vengeance later."

Fandral shook his head at Loki, raising a hand as in benediction, "Good luck to you, my friend. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

The next morning, well before the sun was up, remembering the shelves of books Loki kept in his rooms, Sif clambered up onto the balcony. The snakes had, by this time, worn away.

Loki was still asleep.

Sif smiled.

Making sure to cause some noise – not enough to wake the house, but enough to maybe rouse him a bit – Sif began to empty the shelves.

Soon, it was done, and Loki was walled in on all sides. It took longer than she had expected, but she'd given herself more than enough time.

All of her muttering to herself and shuffling books around should have done its work.

Now, it was time to see if it _had_ worked. She bit her lip and took the last book – a rather large one – and slammed it shut.

She couldn't see through the wall of books, but she could hear sudden movement and a half-aborted ejaculation as the books crashed to the floor and Loki came flailing to the surface.

"Thor!"

But then his eyes lighted on her and he was so surprised that she couldn't stop laughing. He looked at her, then looked at the mess, then at her again.

When Fulla, sister to the queen and head handmaid to her, came in to find out what all the noise was, that was how she found them – Sif leaning weakly against the wall, with a large book closed on her lap, and Loki on a mound of books that now covered his bed and most of the surrounding floor. Both of them were laughing helplessly.

As funny as she was sure it was, such things were not to be permitted.

Suddenly Sif found herself with assigned duties that kept her busier than she had become accustomed to. She had always enjoyed busyness, but now she had to cut down on many things, including the time she spent training.

Loki mysteriously disappeared in much the same way. The story Sif gathered was that he had suffered a spike in his…abilities, and had to redouble his training in those arts temporarily in order to keep them in check.

Sif saw through it, but there was nothing she could do. It was too bad. And it wasn't as though they'd done anything wrong. But they'd been caught. And who knew, they could have been caught by someone who would gossip. And Norns knew that neither of them needed that. This was better. And mayhap it wouldn't have to last long.

Her training companions had mixed reactions. She was still allowed to train, just not as frequently or for as long, but it was enough that they noticed. One day, several weeks after this had begun, Thor caught her on the steps, lacing the tall boots she was wearing, and asked why she kept disappearing. And when she told them of her new duties, and that it wasn't to be a temporary thing, Fandral was the first to respond.

"Well, we can rest easy now boys. There will be less chance for us to be shamed."

Frodi punched his shoulder, "It's not like she's dead."

"I said less chance," Fandral pointed out, "not no chance."

"Did my brother have something to do with this?" Thor asked. His intense blue eyes bored into her.

"What?" if only he didn't make her like this, nervous and scattered. Maybe it was for the best she trained less often, "Loki? No, nothing."

"I had noticed that he seemed to have taken to causing you mischief. It would go poorly for him if I were to find he had done you any real harm."

"No, Thor. It's fine. I do have three brothers. I can take quite a lot."

Fandral peered forward, "Are you infringing the lady's strength, Thor? Far be it from you to do any such thing."

Thor flushed, and Sif's heart jumped a little in her chest, "No. It's only," he looked at her again, "I would not have her come to harm, if it was something I might have prevented."

Fandral's comment had given her enough space to breathe. "How gallant of you, my prince," she extended a hand, "Would you, perchance, help a lady to her feet?"

Solemnity gone, Thor helped her up and the day continued on in the new form she was beginning to grow accustomed to. She was surprised by what Thor had said. He had shown no sign of any suspicion. It was unlike Thor to keep his suspicions a secret. And besides, Loki played tricks on everyone.

Thor's manner towards her became more and more strange. And while she had been longing for just that since first she saw the blond prince, the reality of his interest in her was a bit alarming. She thought that mayhap Gerda had been right, when she had said that such things as romance were best left to those old enough for it. When she had said it, Sif had been lost in her dreaming and had thought herself plenty old. Now, she wasn't sure. Thor was her friend, her brother. Nothing more. Not yet.

That didn't stop her treacherous heart from racing when he was next to her, or sending lightning in her blood when she caught him looking at her.

It also didn't stop her from savoring the first startled moment of the kiss he gave her the one day when they found themselves alone. She slapped him for it.

"Sif-"

"One does not treat a lady so, my prince. Not if one means honorably."

His dismay was apparent, "I meant no disrespect, Sif, I'm sorry – I –"

He stopped because she was laughing, "Apology accepted Thor," he made a move toward her and she shied away, "though that gives you no right to touch me."

"I wasn't…" he was flushed scarlet, crouching down on the floor, gathering the papers she'd forgotten that she'd dropped and bundling them toward her.

They began walking, the silence awkward and nervous, "You aren't," he started, then cleared his throat, "You aren't angry?"

She brushed a loose hair back, "No,"

"Then everything can stay as it was?"

She nodded. It wasn't quite the truth, but he didn't need to know that.

~.~

It was amusing to watch Freya as she attempted to lie to him. If his abilities really had grown as much as she said they had, he would have felt it. In fact, he'd probably be too sick to get out of bed. This was just Fulla's way of keeping him busy. She couldn't assign him tasks as she could Sif, so she would see that he receive extra training.

Odd, to be punished when he'd done nothing wrong this time.

He thought to inform his mother. It was possible that she would put things back as they had been. But it was also possible – more than possible, in fact – that she would consult with his father.

Loki did not want to explain what Sif had been doing in his room to his father. So he held his tongue.

The weeks wore on, and to all intents and purposes, everything was much the same as it had been before Sif had asked him for help keeping Vali off her back.

He'd forgotten how discontent he had become with the way he had passed his time.

He spent much of it in the library, as he always had, but it was too quiet, and it was growing ever more wearisome to be alone with the books. In the past he had occasionally amused himself by wandering about in the woods. No one knew he was outside of the palace, and no one needed to. It became his new occupation. He liked exploring and he never went far. Plus, he found he had developed a special gift for not getting lost. He distracted himself by climbing trees to find out what could be seen from the top, or running up deer-trails to see where they led. Every hill and bend in the path was exciting to him.

One day, he happened to be coming in late, filthy with mud and leaves because the root he'd been holding to as he climbed his way out of a creek-bed had not been as firmly anchored as it had made itself out to be. On account of this, he was keeping to the quieter parts of the palace.

That was when he saw Thor and Sif. He saw Thor kiss her. Loki darted into another corridor, embarrassed to have caught them that way. But soon he grew indignant. Sif was his friend, Thor had no right to touch her. Not that _he_ wanted to. But, the more he thought about it, the more he thought maybe he did. Nobody spoke to him the way Sif did…_You have me_…Nobody played along with his pranks, just because they thought it was fun. She was strong and wild and…well, beautiful. He'd never met anybody like her.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. And the more he realized just how fond of her he had managed to become without realizing it. She different from her kind, just as he was different from his. Sif could see it, he knew she could. She could see more about him than anyone.

The thing that really puzzled him was that she still wanted to have a thing to do with him, even seeing it all.

He remembered the time, a week or so after they had been separated, when she had been training and had found him in the library to tell him that Thor was an idiot. He wondered if she had forgotten that.

It had been too long since they'd last done anything together. He was tired of amusing himself. Things had been just fine before Fulla had caught them, and it had been long enough that maybe he could fix it himself.

Besides, it was his turn now.


	13. Chapter 13

Part Three – Miscalculation

"Have you seen her today?" Thor asked, for the third time. They were training, and this was an exercise which Sif would find particularly enjoyable. Besides, it would be easier to practice with another person. Thor had volunteered to find her.

He had assumed that it would be easy. She was usually in the stables this time of day.

No, she wasn't in the stables. They hadn't seen her at all today, and the pens she cared for were untouched since the night before.

Alright, mayhap the kitchens then.

No, not the kitchens.

He knew that upon occasion she would aid the Lady Freya in whatever it was that Freya did besides teach Loki more mischief.

No, Freya had not seen her this day.

Thor was beginning to grow alarmed. He knew it was silly, kidnappings were almost nonexistent, and illness rare. If she wasn't here, it was from her free will. He'd never known her to neglect her duties…but there they were, neglected. Could she have run away? He knew she had family outside of the city, he had seen her brother the day he brought her in, but he didn't know where or to what capacity. Come to think of it, he didn't even know why she was here. But that was ridiculous. She would have told someone. Unless she was running away from the palace, or someone within it.

Had he driven her away? She hadn't spoken to him much since he'd kissed her, but he'd just thought her more busy. She'd had an excuse – what with the ambassadors from Vanaheim – the kitchen people had been driven to distraction. But could he have driven her away? No. He shook himself. It was preposterous. Sif wouldn't run away – not from him or anybody.

It was part of what made her so perfect.

So, it was settled then. She wouldn't neglect her duties, and she wouldn't run away. Since her duties were neglected and she was missing, he had to assume that she was held by some force outside of her will. Thor couldn't see any other possible solution. Maybe Loki would be able to think of some third answer, but Thor didn't have time to ask him. He was already before her door.

He reached for the knob, then, flushing, knocked. Usually, he was opening doors to try and find Loki, or his mother. Most everybody else stayed where they belonged. He was unused to locating young women.

"Go _away_."

It was Sif and – was she crying?  
>"Sif," his alarm completely toppled any idea of propriety he'd shied at moments before and he came through the door – only to be met by a flying projectile and a shattering, crashing noise not far from his head. He straightened. It was a bowl. She'd thrown a bowl at him and it had broken across the doorpost.<p>

"I said to go–away Thor,"

She sat on her bed, face a teary mess. It was hard to tell if she was more upset by whatever had occurred, or angry with him. She buried her face in her hands.

"Sif, what happened?" then, "_What_ have you done to your hair?" All her mane of beautiful, golden hair had been shorn off until it hung unevenly about her ears.

"What have_ I _done?" she gave a hollow sort of laugh as she looked up, "I played with fire, that's what–I did."

Loki had cut off her hair. He'd known that Loki had some design toward her. First the geese, then the books, now this.

Thor slammed the door behind him and went to find his brother.

~.~

"Loki."

He turned, but he didn't think to move fast enough. Thor took him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, "Why did you do it?"

Loki coughed, trying to squirm out of Thor's hands, "Do what?"

"You know damn well what, you little sneak." Thor gave him a jerk, smacking the back of his head against the wall, and this time, Loki stopped struggling. He raised a hand gingerly to the back of his head.

"Well?"

Loki went to say something, but the lazy look on his face made Thor think he'd regret saying it. He shook him again.

"Will you –"

The words were cut off by the heavy forearm Thor planted across his neck.

Loki pushed at him, sarcasm good and gone, and Thor allowed his arm to be moved back to Loki's collarbone.

"_Well?_"

His voice was weak, he coughed, "It was a joke,"

"A _joke_?" Thor wanted to strangle him, "Well let's see how funny the lady thinks your joke."

Thor took him by the back of his neck and half-dragged him back to Sif's room where he opened without knocking and shoved him in.

Sif had her back to them as they came in, but she was otherwise much as Thor had left her, "Thor, I–I said–" she turned, and saw Loki, "You! How _could_ you?"

Loki was just looking at her, transfixed and almost horrified, "Sif,"

"No. Do-don't speak to me," she hid her face, voice coming muffled but perfectly clear, "I don't ever want you to speak to me _again_. Do you understand? You horrible, wretched _boy,_" she raised her face, "I _trusted_ you. Do-does that even mean _any_thing to you?"

Loki still appeared to be in shock, but he managed, "I'll fix this, Sif, you have my word."

"Your word," she scoffed. A shoe came hurtling through the air and smacked the wall between them, "_Get_ out."

Thor did not wait to be told twice. He dragged Loki out and shoved him against the wall, this time nearly lifting him off of his feet.

"Still think it's funny?" he growled.

"I'll fix it Thor," he struggled against Thor's weight, "I'll fix it,"

Thor dropped him, "See that you do."


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry about the wait...Crazy weekend...other bad excuses...anyways, here we are.**

**~.~**

**~.~**

Loki picked himself up off the floor. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, so, after a bare moment's hesitation, he made for the woods. No one would find him there, and he would have the space to think. He went up to the cliffs which overlooked the city. He'd always loved the place. But this time, he hadn't come for the view. He sat down with his back to a tree and his head on his knees.

_How_ could he have been such a fool?

Normally, the walk would have helped to clear his head, but not this fine morning. Today he was all in a whirl. He had to make it up to her…somehow…He hadn't meant to hurt her. He'd thought…Well, quite frankly he didn't know what he'd thought or why in heaven's name he'd thought it.

He had to fix this. He had to…

…_Well, there's an idea_…

~.~

He'd cut off her hair.

He'd snuck into her room while she'd been asleep and cut off her hair.

Sif couldn't quite make herself believe it.

It wasn't so much her hair itself that she was upset about, once she'd had time to think. She _was_, but hair would grow back. Eventually it would be just as long and beautiful as it ever had been. It would take time, but it would come, and it would be tolerable until it did.

What really bothered her was the fact that Loki had willingly harmed her in a semi-permanent way. He had to realize that there were parameters to what was considered playful and harmless. And this time he'd overstepped them by a long-shot. He wasn't stupid. He had to know how upset she'd be. Maybe that's what he'd wanted the whole time, to convince her that he was her friend, that he wasn't going to hurt her, that she could trust him, no matter what the others said about him.

And she _had_. In the library, all that time ago, she'd decided that she was willing to give him a chance. He'd taken it, and look what had happened. She wondered about it, wondered about the tunnels and that first adventure they'd had.

She wondered suddenly if it hadn't all been contrived to win her trust. That would explain Loki's mysterious seeing in the pitch-dark passage, and how he seemed to know everything about where he was going and what they might find in the dark. He'd run ahead out of hurt pride – he'd admitted as much to her face. How much harder, if one knew magic, might it be to build the rest just to rub it in that you had control and power where someone else didn't?

But he had seemed just as frightened as she, she reasoned. But then she countered almost just as quickly that fear was easily faked, especially in the company of one who was legitimately feeling it.

Why though? What would he possibly stand to gain?

Maybe he'd gotten carried away and had sprung too soon…

But no, Loki was too smart for that, too calculating.

Well, what else then?

She didn't know. Maybe just for the thrill. Mayhap he'd tired of the game.

But if that was so, it was already over. Fulla had seen to that, all he had to do was to stop and go back to his old ways. He didn't have to drive it in.

Why had it even started?

She had pursued him that first time, when they found the passage. She had given him no choice but to allow her presence. It had angered him, and he'd made up the riddle, or misinterpreted it. He'd known the ruins and thought them a fitting place, then made up the rest by his magic. But after that, why?

She felt sick. Again, it was her pursuit. She'd _climbed into his room_, to ask him for help in getting Vali off her back. She'd gone to him then because she knew he disliked him as much as she herself did. She thought there was no way he'd refuse. And he hadn't. And the whole damn thing had sprung cleanly out of that.

But that night. That night when they'd talked in the woods. He was the only one who knew any of it, and he'd told her the same. But of course he had. And really, what choice had she given him? He couldn't help having a nightmare, but she hadn't had to wake him. And once he was awake, she had just begun talking, she hadn't given him the choice to go back to sleep and leave all as it was. If his goal had been to force her trust, he'd done well. He'd listened, and then he'd shared his heart. _See,_ he'd said, _you can trust me. We're not so different after all, you and I_. And she'd believed him. He'd probably made it all up, and she'd believed every damn word.

It was her own fault. She'd _wanted _to believe him. So desperate had she been for companionship that she'd been willing to find it anywhere. She'd been looking for someone to take the place of the brothers she'd lost, and had been so blinded by her own misery that she'd settled on the worst possible choice. She'd given him every opportunity. He had to have laughed at how easy she'd made it. Even now she didn't _want _to believe it. She wanted him to be the boy she'd come to believe he was.

She'd _wanted_ to believe in the old stories, where things worked out well and everything worked out in the end for the better.

But it was enough. She would watch herself. She would not let anyone slip in on her the way she'd invited him to. She wouldn't be anyone's dupe. Never again.

_I've been such a fool…_

~.~

Loki stepped out of the passage, marked it, and let it fade to nothing behind him. If he were to return home by his own means, it would be there. And if not, well, it would fade with time.

He though it fitting that the passage Sif had helped him to find would help him to make good his debt to her. There was a nice kind of symmetry to it.

Nidavellir was a rocky and dull place. No wonder the inhabitants made their homes underground. Barely anything grew on the surface. The clouds were ashy gray. And the sun, when it broke through the dirty wool of the clouds, was red-hot and scorching.

Father said it had not always been so. According to legend, Nidavellir had once been lush and fertile as Vanaheim. It had flourished, and the people who dwelt on it had prospered. They had been tall and graceful. They had had farms, and mined near the surface of their realm. But after a time, they had dug too deep, and had discovered that they were not the only ones to call that realm their home. Dragons had dwelt several miles below the surface, and at the contact of the people, they had come out. They laid waste to the land, burning villages and driving the people into their own deep caves.

There were other legends that one of the Nidavellir had had strong magic, and – for whatever reason – hating his kin, had created the dragons and set them on the people. And there were still other legends that they had come as a gift – as tiny, lizard-like pets – from a king on Vanaheim. The Vanir knew how to handle dragons, and would have been able to train one raised from a hatchling. The Dwellers of Nidavellir had no such knowledge. Thus the gift was ultimately their destruction.

Regardless of _how_ it happened, the fact was that the people were driven underground and the dragons were left the surface-land. Having no useful occupation or skill of any kind, they drained it and looted it, and burned it until nothing remained but the ashes and rocks that were still left behind them. Once the land had died, they set about trying to kill one another, and – for the most part – succeeded. There were few dragons left on Nidavellir, and all of them lay sleeping in the age-old abandoned halls of the people, or buried in the shallow caves they had dug for themselves, waiting for some hapless traveler to come by and provide them with the sustenance they needed in order to fly once more.

As for the people, they had made the best of it, and built a huge citadel deep below the surface of their world, running streets into and out of it like a Warren. It got bigger and bigger, wider and wider, until the tunnels branched out nearly as far as their original settlement ever had.

But an odd thing became of the people, underground in the dark. They grew smaller, more ugly and misshapen, less able to take the light of the sun, more suited to the dark and the tunnels there. Over time, they had grown so sensitive to the sun's light, that their own sun would now turn them to stone. And if they ever did come to the surface, it was only in the dead of night.

There _were_ some, who had refused to go into the ground, and still lived the lives of wandering nomads, scratching what living they could off of the rocks. The sun did not harm them, and they were taller and more fair than their kin. Many of these hunted dragons. The others traded their work with various other realms and often made their home on them, where living was easier.

But it was not to one of these that Loki was making his way. He smiled as he surveyed the barren landscape. He remembered this place.

Portals like the one he'd found were less accurate then the Bifrost. The Bifrost would land you yards from where it was you meant to be put down, usually feet. Portals would often set you miles from your target, though a skilled manipulator might be able to make it closer. Sometimes, if _very_ lucky, one could get nearly as close as the Bifrost would take you.

There were skills that Loki had that he did not tell anyone about.

He had been here before. Once. Not long ago. Just over a year, perhaps. He had been here with his father when his father had come to sort out some trouble or other. The dwarves made nearly all the armor and weaponry for Asgard, and many beautiful items that were less necessary as well. There had been some argument over whose right it was to be the main supplier to the Aesir. The AllFather had gone to hear the arguments and make a decision, but Loki had liked the Sons of Ivaldi right from the beginning. Living farther from the city than the others, they were a tribe much less given to the petty quarreling and blood-feuds pursued by the other tribes. He told his father this, commenting that their supply would be much more steady, and probably of better quality than that of the other tribes. They were already the preferred smiths of the queen, and various other high-ranking merchants and buyers in Asgard. By choosing them, what did they stand to lose?

The AllFather heard out the speeches. But ultimately, the Sons of Ivaldi won his approval.

It was time they made good on their debt.


	15. Chapter 15

Kelidri was a guard. Currently, he was the on-duty guard at the south-western entrance to the seventh district of the People of the Hills. Kelder, his brother, Dokan and Makti were in the barracks about ten yards away, probably sleeping. If he saw anything strange, he was to blow his whistle – it was high enough that it would wake them from a sound slumber, and not be heard by the barrow-worms at all. Well, at least not all but the littlest ones, and those would be distracted – sometimes driven away – by it. That's what the Elders had told him, and it had not entered his head to doubt their word on it.

He stood deep in the shadows, careful to avoid even the chance that he might be startled and fall into the patch of sunlight that was creeping into the mouth of the watch-post. There had been talk in the city of moving the watch deeper under-earth for the watchmen's safety, but it had been ruled out for the simple reason that a watchman would be no good with nothing to watch. If they were deeper beneath the ground, what would they be looking for? By the time they knew something was coming, it would be far too late.

As it was, Kelidri was bored. He was the youngest in their troop, and the newest recruit to the watch, but even he had been doing this for long enough that much of the thrill was gone.

With the suddenness of such things, it was back. And Kelidri realized how necessary his post was, even on days during which _nothing_ was happening. A tall youth – from off-realm by the looks of him – had simply appeared a yard or two from where he stood. Now, the truth was that Kelidri had not been watching the door, and the stranger moved so quietly that there had been no noise of him to alert Kelidri of his arrival. For his part, Kelidri still had to him the element of surprise. Tucked as he was beneath the shadows, and the visitor being an over-worlder, he had taken no notice of the guard.

As was protocol, Kelidri blew his whistle, then lowered his spear and came forward. "In the authority of the Dvallir guard of the Sons of Ivaldi I demand that you stop and make yourself known."

It was his first time handling a situation, and Kelidri was quite proud of himself.

Met with the spear, the stranger drew back, raising his hands, "I mean you and yours no harm."

"Who are you?"

Kelidri was just getting a look at the stranger. He was tall, as all the over-worlders were, and had a sharp, girlish face. Another peculiarity of the over-world. All the youths looked like maids, and many of the men strove to look like youths. Very strange.

"One who would do business with your chief."

He appeared to be unarmed. Kelder and the others came up around him.

"You are unarmed," Dokan said, "Mage or no?"

"Rudimentarily trained," the stranger answered. He seemed untroubled by the knowledge that he was surrounded by Dvallish spears.

"Too young for little more than that," Makti laughed.

The stranger took no notice, much less offense.

Makti continued, "What business have you with our chief?"

"I had a proposition to make him."

"Of what kind?"

"He owes me a debt. I had intended to allow him the opportunity to make good on it."

"Who are you?"

"No one of consequence,"

"Then how comes our chief to owe debt to you?" Kelidri asked.

The stranger looked at him, his mouth tipping a little to one side, "Perceptive," then turned back to the group, "My father is of more consequence than I. It is on his behalf I come."

"Who is your father, then?"

"He would have me not say."

"Why?"

"My errand is to be one of secrecy."

"If you will not say," Kelder decided, "and since your errand is one pertinent to the honor of our tribe, you will be allowed entry. But bound and with an armed guard. If you object, no entry will you be allowed and you may go on your way back to your own realm. Do you object?"

"I do not."

Kelder and Dokan drew close to him. They bound his hands behind him without much difficulty, then had him kneel down in order to bind a cloth over his eyes.

Not that he'd be able to see in the tunnels. Over-worlder's had such weak eyes.

"If I so much as catch a whiff of mage-craft," Dokan gave him a prod with the butt-end of his spear, "you'll be feeling the other side."

The stranger laughed. They pushed him up to his feet.

Kelder and Kelidri were the assigned watch for the quarter they were still in, so it was decided that Dokan and Makti would escort the prisoner to the city.

As the three faded into the tunnels, Kelidri went back to his post.

~.~

They lead Loki down ever dark and winding tunnels. He had given up long ago attempting to even try and get his bearings. Besides, that wasn't usually how it worked for him anyway. Thor would always know how he had gotten into and out of a place. The map was burned somewhere into his mind. For Loki it had never been so. His talent had developed slowly, but often now he could re-trace his steps. Even running head-long for miles into the forest, he could generally find his way back with next to no trouble.

He gave up trying to build the map and merely allowed his small guides to lead him. He fancied to himself that he was being led by children and laughed, even as they ran him part-way against the door-post of the tunnel. They were moving slowly enough that he stumbled, caught himself, but did not fall. The wall was of rough-hewn stone. That much his cheekbone told him.

Twisting and turning they went over the gurgling sound of water. The ground beneath him hadn't changed, so Loki guessed that the bridge itself was of earth and stone. Interesting, what one could do with the materials available.

After what could have been an eternity – though Loki was fairly sure his time-sense had been troubled, they stopped where he could just see faint glimmers of a yellow-gold light through the cloth on his eyes. He heard a somewhat distant, but nevertheless distinct sound of people. It was a city-sound.

His guards were muttering amongst themselves a little distance away. They had not spoken to him much on the trip, and only spoke to one another in low tones he had to strain to catch. And that rarely. The dwarves were a silent people. Or at least these were.

Now they were speaking to each other. Loki only barely caught the phrases, "…he's a mage,"

"…rudimentarily trained,"

"…so he _said_…"

After a moment or two more of deliberation, they called him forward and they continued. They went sharply downhill for a bit, then turned and the sounds of the city immediately were muffled and the light was made more dim.

Twisting, turning, this time many steps.

Loki began to hate staircases.

His shins would never forgive him.

Then, they stopped.

There was the sound of a heavy door swinging open, and he was shoved forward.

"…refuses to give his name."

The voice ended as he came through and his hands were unbound.

They had him get down and removed the fabric from his eyes.

He blinked at the light, dim as it was.

The door shut behind him.

"You will become accustomed to it,"

It was Ivaldi, sitting at a low work-table, cluttered with small tools and scraps of metal. His hands were busy, and he did not look up.

They were alone.

"Welcome again to my realm, Prince. You come with business from the AllFather? Secret business?"

"Secret, yes. From my father, no."

"Oh?"

"You owe me a debt."

"Do I?"

"You are now the chief supplier to the Aesir and our main ally in this realm, yes?"

"Through your agency?"

"Through my agency."

The old dwarf turned to him, "Why?"

"I happen to have a fondness for your people. But now I am in need of your aid."

"In what manner?" He laid aside his tools.

"I need you to make for me a head of hair, forged of the finest gold. Long and light and able to take root and grow, just as any real hair might do, that none may know the magic of it once it is worn, only the beauty."

"Such a thing requires great skill, Prince,"

"Greater skill than your smiths possess?"

"It has been many years since one of mine has attempted such a thing,"

Loki was growing impatient with the slow, deliberate manner of the dwarf, but kept his voice level, "Will you be able to craft this for me or no?"

Ivaldi's gnarled hand opened and closed slowly on the table-top, "I would try my hand at magic again," he murmured it as though speaking to himself. He looked up at Loki and said, more loudly, "It will be done."


	16. Chapter 16

They had done it. Loki didn't know how, and he didn't care. He'd seen marvels forged by the dwarfs and he had known that it was possible. The only thing they'd warned him of was that the one to receive the hair must be the first to wear it. It would take root on the first head it touched.

Now he was in the tunnels.

They had lead him, blindfolded once more, but this time, on the good-will of their chief, with bound hands before him. Loki supposed that that was a good thing, if he tripped on the blasted staircase, he'd have a prayer at catching himself.

Now he was unbound, and his vision was coming back to him. They'd released him while still underground, given him a series of directions, thrust the hair at him, and left him to find his way.

Needless to say, he didn't really remember most of the directions.

He'd been trying to repeat them to himself, but he knew he should have hit the air by now, and he hadn't, so he must have gone astray somewhere. There was no real way to retrace his steps, and no street-marker to let him know once he had, all the tunnels looked alike. The best road out was forward, so, forward he went. Eventually he would come to something.

Then he did.

"Odinson,"

The voice was familiar, and it wasn't friendly. Loki could just make him out in the gloom.

"Hello Brokk," he was in far too fine of spirits to revive old quarrels now, and the words came out almost a sing-song.

"Good eyes, over-worlder," the dwarf muttered, "What brings you here?"

"The Sons of Ivaldi have made me a marvel and I had come to claim it of them."

"A little far out of your way, aren't you?"

"I was enjoying the fine weather and the chance to stretch my legs," just because he didn't feel like quarreling didn't mean he wanted to ask Brokk, of all people, for assistance, "Since when did a little exercise hurt a man?"

"Since when did the Sons of Ivaldi craft marvels fit for Odin's house?"

"Oh, but they've revived their old talents, Brokk. Such things I've seen!"

"Of the Sons of Ivaldi?" the dwarf laughed scornfully.

"I bet my head the marvel I have now is more wondrous than any you or your brother could craft."

"Do you?" Brokk laughed again, "I'll take that bet. Maybe this time we'll actually get rid of you. Come then. Am I allowed to see it?"

Loki smirked, "No."

Brokk shrugged carelessly, "Have it as you will. But come. My brother and I will have your challenge met by nightfall."

Loki followed him. He hadn't intended to be further detained, but what could he stand to lose? Soon they came to the dwarf's apartments. Brokk poured Loki a drink and had him sit down with instructions to 'Wait there'. Then he vanished to seek after his brother.

~.~

"Sindri," Brokk came around the door-frame and into the forge. Sindri looked up from his work, pushing back the eye-shield and wiping the sweat off his face.

Brokk stopped before him. "I have made a wager of my head with the son of Odin on your skill."

"Brother," Sindri laid his tools aside wearily, "Again? Are you daft? Don't you remember the last time?"

"Your powers have only grown, my brother," Brokk countered, "Am I wrong to put my faith in your skill?"

"No," Sindri sighed, "But I wish you'd make more prudent wagers. Gold is not something we currently have in abundance, and you know how much it takes to ransom a head."

Brokk didn't have time for this, "I also know how much it takes to win a wager. Will you aid me, or am I to craft this marvel myself? I have only until nightfall."

"You know I'm the better smith," Sindri rose, stretched, "You work the bellows. Did he have the grace to show you what you're up against?"

"What do you expect?"

"Brokk, you make friends everywhere you go. Work the bellows."

~.~

Loki was thoroughly bored by the time Brokk and Sindri came out from their hole. He had long-since finished his drink, and was now wandering about the room, peering at things and tracing the carvings in the walls, trying to decipher the stories. He remembered Sif finding the entrance to the passage all those months ago and – sick with himself – he drew his hand from the wall. He would fix this.

Brokk was muttering under his breath, wiping blood out of his eye.

Loki turned and donned a toothy smile, "Why Brokk, whatever have you done?"

Sindri followed him, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth, "A fly got him as he worked the bellows."

Brokk muttered some choice words about the 'little beast'.

Loki and Sindri shared a look, "If we're lucky," Sindri said, "He'll be over it by the next moon," then to Brokk, "You have it, then?"

Not turning round, Brokk waved his hand.

"So be it," Sindri said, "Good speed."

Loki followed Brokk out into the main tunnels again, winding and twisting their way toward the surface. Neither one spoke. When they broke out into the air, it was just past sunset.

"Well, our timing at least is good,"

Brokk grunted and they headed out across the barren stones.


	17. Chapter 17

When they arrived in Asgard, the sun was only just beginning to creep toward the horizon.

That was another thing about portal travel, you never knew what time it would be in the realm you came to. It might be high noon in Vanaheim, and only just past daybreak when you stepped through to Asgard.

Luckily for Brokk, they came out yards from an open tunnel just outside of the walls of the palace – the tunnels used by the dwarfs when they came to visit Asgard on missions of state. Also luckily for him, he had Loki with him. Otherwise he might never have gotten through the gate.

Word travelled well-ahead of them – which did not surprise Loki in the slightest. Heimdall was likely to notice, and Loki knew that once he did, Heimdall would tell it to the AllFather. Odin would then call together the Council in Gladsheim.

He was not wrong.

They arrived at the hall of Gladsheim to find it already full. Odin was in his High Seat, and all the others had taken their places around him. The only one missing was Thor. But that was not an unusual thing. He was barely allowed in, much less allowed a seat yet, and matters of state bored him.

"Loki, what have you done?"

All was silent in the vast hall, "Last night," he grinned at the solemn surrounding faces, "in a fit of wickedness, I took a knife and cut off the golden hair of Sif." A gasp rippled around the edges of the hall. Loki waited. "The fit passed and, feeling remorse for my evil deed, I found a way to the Realm of Nidavellir, and I employed the help of the Sons of Ivaldi. With their great skill, they have crafted for me a head of hair of the purest gold. Once set upon her head, it will take root and grow and be just as her hair had been, but _more _golden and _more _beautiful than ever it was before."

Murmurs, then silence.

"What of the dwarf?"

Brokk stiffened indignantly and Loki tried not to laugh, "As I was returning from the city of the Sons of Ivaldi," he said, "I became lost in the tunnels. And as I wandered, I came upon Brokk. We got to talking, and I told him of the marvel I had. Brokk was scornful and made with me a wager, his head to mine, that his brother could make a better marvel than that in my possession. Leading me to their hall, I was instructed to wait, and I can only conclude that during the time of my waiting, they forged their answer to my bet."

"Is this true, Heimdall?"

Standing in the doorway behind them, Heimdall gave a deep nod, "It is."

The AllFather turned to the angry little man standing beside Loki, "What of your tale?"

"Just as the whelp tells you," Brokk said, "He made a bet that I would not refuse."

"Has your brother crafted a fitting challenge to my son's boast?"

Brokk looked smug, "He has."

"Show it to us."

Brokk brought out from the sack over his shoulder a small gold packet. In absolute silence, he ran his nail along certain patterns, then folded out little wings. He pressed something, then unfolded something else. This continued until it had grown to a size that was too large for his hands and he laid it on the ground, scurrying around it on the ground in order to unfold it. All was done with barely traceable speed.

When he was done, it was a ship all of gold. Brokk beamed at the AllFather, wiping sweat from his face. "Now that it's been done once, it can be done faster. The AllFather knows the way of it, does he not?"

Odin nodded, "He does."

"Such were the Dvallir ships in the old days. My brother has revived knowledge of them from the ancient texts. They can grow large – even this one might be made larger – but they may still be folded up into a packet the size of a man's hand. And once made small, my brother's enchantments so wrought it that it might be carried easily by even a child. It may sail by water, land, and sky. Such is my challenge."

The AllFather nodded again, then turned to Loki, "And what of your boast?"

"Sif will need to be summoned."

A murmur went around the hall. Gladsheim was not a place for women. Even the Queen was kept out while Things were being discussed. By custom, in matters of grave import, she would be consulted by the AllFather after the initial debate and decision would only be made after her counsel had been taken. In lesser decisions, the AllFather would decide for himself. Either way, women did not enter.

The AllFather found a guard, "Send for the girl."

Sif was brought.

She had cleaned up since last he saw her, but that had been hours ago. She looked more herself now, with her face washed and in her proper clothes. Her hair though…

Loki felt a stab of guilt that he quickly shoved aside. He'd brought something to make it up to her. Everything would be as it had been before.

It was hastily cut, jagged and uneven. Ripples of talk wavered through the hall.

Sif gave them no hold whatsoever.

Angry as he was with the voices, Loki was proud of her. But that was absurd so he pushed it out of his mind too.

Head high, she strode down the main hall and stood squarely before the High Seat, as if she and Odin were the only two living creatures in the room. Hand over breast she saluted the AllFather.

"You summoned me, my king?"

"My son has done you a grave injustice, has he not?"

"It is nothing, AllFather," she said easily, but without emotion, "time will heal it."

"I would not have it so," he beckoned Loki to come across the room, "My son will repay you for his crime,"

"AllFather, it's not –"

Then she caught sight of the hair that Loki held in his hands. He had come forward and let the cover fall away to reveal the perfect golden strands. They glittered most beautifully in the light of the sun that snuck in through the open window.

"I owe this to you, Sif," he said it quietly, so only she would hear him, "in just payment of my debts."

Her grey eyes met and searched his. Shocked and with something else Loki didn't quite recognize in them. He didn't know what to say to her, his heart beating giddily in his throat, so he looked away.

"Put it on your head. It will take root and grow just as your real hair would."

"Loki," she breathed, running her fingers down the gold. She didn't take it.

"Would you have me put it on for you?"

She shook her head, distractedly.

"It is for you, Sif."

Finally, carefully, she took it into her hands and raised it up to her head.

All was silent, as if Gladsheim itself held its breath to wait.

It began to glow, soft and golden at first, then brighter and brighter until one couldn't quite make out the details within the glow at all. Loki had to look away. His eyes were good in the dark. Thor might be able to peer into the sun, but Loki could not.

When the glow died and he could turn back, Sif was looking at the hair, draped over her shoulder. It was long and shimmering, seamlessly tumbling from the top of her head to her lower back, rippling and light like real hair, glittering like gold.

She was magnificent.

But it all lasted no more than a moment. No sooner had the hall let out its breath in a sigh of wonder at the beauty of her and all her shinning hair, then all began to fall to pieces.

The hair began to turn black.

Starting from the bottom, the plague crept up the gold. It seemed to move so slowly that watching it was like torture, but in reality, it was all over so fast that Loki had time only to suck in a breath before the change was complete.

Sif was the first one to find her voice, watching with horror, "Loki, what have you done?"

"I?" his hands were in his hair and he pulled them down where they could be of some use to him, "I don't know, this wasn't supposed –"

The hall erupted in sound, but finally the voice of the AllFather cut through and stilled it.

"What has happened?"

Loki opened his mouth to answer, though he wasn't at all sure what it was that he intended to say.

Brokk beat him, "I'll tell you what has happened. The smith-work failed. It wasn't strong enough to hold when placed alongside a pulse," he laughed, "There is nothing that the Sons of Ivaldi put their hands to that they cannot break,"

"You little _scrap_ of a man –" Loki made a move toward him, but came to an abrupt halt as a woman's voice rang out through Gladsheim.

"Will you all _please_ stop!" It was Sif.

Loki caught his breath.

Sif stood erect, probably the calmest person in the entire room, black hair loose and hanging down behind her. It was striking against the angles of her face, the color of her skin.

She was the most beautiful creature Loki had ever seen.

"AllFather," she turned from the crowd to the king, "I take it there is more you would have this counsel discuss. What is it that you would have me do?"

"Loki," he did not turn from her, "Can you change this?"

Sif did not look at him, but kept her eyes focused on the king. "No, I don't –" he shook his head, sudden shame burning him. He looked away. "I don't know how."

"It can't be done," Brokk put in, "Smith-work is not susceptible to your mage craft. No amount of whitchery will ever turn that girl's hair gold again."

Sif's breath caught and Loki wished a long and painful death on the dwarf.

"Go," said the AllFather, "find the queen and tell her what has happened, see if the strength of her art surpasses that of my son."

Stiffly, she bowed, then turned on her heel and was gone, the great doors swinging closed behind her. As she went, she threw a glance over her shoulder at Loki. Her eyes were cold and hard as steel.

She hated him. She blamed him for what had happened, and she hated him.

And he deserved it.

Brokk began to laugh, "They could never have managed that, not even at their height!"

Loki barely heard him. His hands closed into fists at his sides. He wasn't sure what he was going to do to that awful little tunnel rat. But he was sure he'd find something.

The AllFather cut him off, "The hair was defective. By merit of its defect, you, Brokk, have won the wager."

Of course he had. Brokk laughed again.

Loki knew there was no arguing with his father's decision. He bit off the words, "I will fetch you your gold."

"Oh no," Brokk said, "I won't be taking gold this time, my bonny boy,"

Loki's hot blood ran icy cold.

"What?"

"I said," the dwarf repeated, "I won't be taking gold." He raised his voice, turning to the wide hall, "This whelp has bet his head, and by all that's holy, I'm going to have it."

The hall was a roar.

"AllFather," it was Frey, wild and slight, new to the gathering, only just come from Vanaheim. He didn't yet know how these things generally played out, "AllFather, you are not going to allow the dwarf to take the life of your son,"

"My son has made a wager. By law, his head belongs now to the dwarf."

His head. Loki's eyes flicked to his father. Odin was looking at him, face perfectly expressionless, but Loki knew that he'd given him the way out.

Brokk came up behind him, forced him to his knees. Loki raised a hand, catching hold of his arm, "My head only!"

The dwarf stopped, "What?"

"My head only," Loki repeated, heartbeat loud in his ears, "By law, you have my head. But by that same law, you may have no part of my neck."

Someone in the hall gave a spurt of laughter.

Brokk's face contorted. He released Loki, throwing the axe he carried to the ground where it hit with a tinny clang.

Loki picked himself up from the floor. His legs were not altogether steady.

The dwarf turned sharply back. He addressed the AllFather, rage, alarmingly, gone, "By law his head is mine, yes?"

"It is."

"To do with as I will? So long as I touch no part of his pretty neck?"

There was an agonizingly long pause, then, "It is true."

Brokk gave a sickening smile, then, all of a sudden, came at Loki and threw himself at his chest. Loki felt his back hit the ground. There was a flash of metal and Loki saw the little knife suddenly in Brokk's hand come toward his face. He turned his head and the knife came down on his cheek. It slid off.

Frigga's spell held.

Loki laughed.

The dwarf tried another jab with the same result before a guard had pulled him off and Loki had scrambled back up to his feet. Giddy, Loki wiped a hand across his mouth, inspecting it for blood, but no, the knife had not cut. It would take a weapon imbued with strong magic to pierce _his_ skin.

He didn't hear what his father had said, but began to listen as Brokk made answer, "If I cannot silence him for good, I will silence him for a time. I intend to sew his mouth shut. That will silence him. My brother's awl will do where my knife will not. I know the way of your witch-work. I will have my price! Is it not my right?"

A long pause.

"It is."

"Catch me then!" and Loki was off. He could beat everyone he raced. Even Thor. There was no way Brokk, with all his stumpy legs, would be able to keep up with him.

And once free of the hall, Loki knew the forest better than any. What was to prevent him from hiding there until the time of the wager had run out? At sunset Brokk would be forced to relinquish his claim and Loki would be free to return home.

He had neglected to count on Thor.

The great doors of Galdsheim opened and there he was. He was late, but he had come.

"Grab him! Grab him!" Brokk screeched.

Thor's face was dark. He caught Loki by the shoulder.

"Thor, let me go,"

But there was no placating Thor. Not when his face was like that.

~.~

Thor half pushed, half dragged Loki back to the front of the hall. Whatever it was he had been running from, Loki deserved it. It was high time he paid the just price for one of his pranks.

He nearly dropped Loki onto the ground before the dwarf.

Brokk was delighted.

"Now help me hold him still,"

The dwarf was already sitting on him.

"It won't work," Loki spat at him, "You know that,"

"No I don't," the dwarf plucked an awl from his pocket, "and neither do you."


	18. Chapter 18

The AllFather made no move to stop any of it.

Thor did as he was told, holding Loki's head as still as he could.

He knew that it would make it easier for the dwarf, but it would also minimize the damage.

There was blood everywhere.

On his hands, on his arms, all covering Loki's face, and coating the dwarf's busy fingers.

Loki struggled.

He writhed and kicked, he spat blood until he couldn't; they had to get some others to help them hold him still.

He was stronger than Thor had given him credit for.

Twice, he nearly lost consciousness.

Thor wished he would. It would make this easier for all of them.

When it was done, they left him there.

The dwarf tied the cord into a tight, sharp little knot, leapt off of him, and waved the others who had been holding him back.

Thor didn't move.

"My price has been paid," the dwarf said contentedly.

Thor wished for his hammer. He wished he could crush every bone in that creature's ridiculous, tiny body to dust.

"Are you content?" the AllFather asked. Thor looked up at him. His voice was as calm as if he'd been watching the water kiss the sand at a beach for the last hour. Didn't he care?

Loki felt the way his hold slackened as he looked away and he gave a sharp jerk, rolling over onto his hands and knees. He retched, blood oozing down his chin from the cuts. He was shaking so badly that he nearly collapsed again.

"Loki,"

He gave no sign he heard, but pulled his knee underneath him and rose to his feet. There was a small door toward the side, kept open to cool the hall, and it stood no more than a few yards away. Loki made for it, lurching unsteadily across the floor.

Thor nearly rose.

"Let him go," it was his father. Calm as ever.

Thor's hands were bloody fists.

Loki's blood.

Loki stumbled, caught hold of the door-frame, then pushed off of it and was gone at a run.

"He has paid for his crime," Odin, speaking lower now, talking to the dwarf who stood near the High Seat.

His crime? Oh. Yes. Sif.

His hands were sticky with Loki's blood.

He felt sick and he had a hard time remembering why he'd been so angry.

He looked back up to the doors, tears hot as dragon's blood.

~.~

When Sif had left Gladsheim, she did come to the Queen. Frigga had been shocked to see her as she was. The girl did not expect her to fix it, but she had been commanded by the AllFather to come.

Frigga felt her heart drop, "Did Loki do this to you?"

Lip caught between her teeth, Sif nodded.

Frigga sat beside her, an arm across her back, sometimes stroking the thick, dark hair.

Sif gathered herself up after a minute and straightened, "I'm sorry," she managed, "I shouldn't–"

"It's a lot all at once, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"And I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but it _is _lovely."

Sif looked at her.

"Neither better, nor worse, than gold. Beautiful just the same."

Sif didn't quite seem to know what to do, "I thank you, my Queen."

"Not at all. Now, would you like to stay with me for a while? You needn't return to your duties for a time. I can arrange –"

The girl was shaking her head, "No," she said, "the work will help me, but I thank you."

It grew warm in the High Hall at that time of day. More warm than Frigga really had a taste for. A while after Sif had left her, she laid aside her work, and made her way toward the gardens. They would help her think. Something would have to be done about Loki. From what Sif had said, it seemed his father had it well under control, but she would still have to say something. But what? She couldn't imagine why – On her way she heard the voices of two girls – quite unaware of her presence – "..I think he deserved it, after what he did to her…"

Frigga turned on her heel and headed for Gladsheim.

~.~

She wasted no time in arguing with her husband.

Upon hearing what it was that had happened, she sent out her guard to search the surrounding area and find the prince.

And find him they did.

A mile or so out from Gladsheim, hidden in a secluded place in the beginning of the woods.

It was sunset, about three or four hours since he had fled from the hall.

His face and hands were all a mess of blood, and somehow, he had torn out the stitches.

When they came upon him, he was barely conscious, slumped on the ground, his back to a fallen trunk. He did not hear them coming.

A guard touched his shoulder. He could feel the heat straight through the fabric.

Loki's eyes shot open, and he drew back, snarling like a wild creature.

He was so delirious that when they tried to take him, he fought them. Seeming to forget entirely the knife in his hand, even as he fought, he dropped it.

They tried to speak to him, but if he heard them he gave no sign.

Finally, he dropped onto his knees and blacked out for good. Due most probably to the loss of blood, though the fever couldn't have helped any.

A guard caught him and they carried him back to his mother.

That was the story that Frigga heard from them when they appeared before her with her son.

She had them lay him in his bed, then called her maidens and they set to work.

The stitches were out, he'd torn them free himself. His face and arms were all covered with drying blood. He was eaten up with fever.

It was two anxious days before he woke.

Gefjon saw him move, his eyes open, and excitedly beckoned Frigga from across the room.

The first thing that Loki did upon waking was to shove Gefjon out of the way and vomit blood onto the floor.

Frigga helped him to lay back against the head of the bed. His hands fluttered above his mouth and he met her eyes for no more than a heartbeat before he shut them and forced his hands down.

She could see how hurt he was, but he'd always been proud.

The cuts had begun to grow together, and he had burst a few of them. A drop of blood – like a crimson tear – oozed down his chin.

Frigga sat beside him on the bed, taking the wet cloth one of the maids pressed into her hand. Singing softly, she began first with his hand, then moved to his face. He never moved, nor did he open his eyes, but he was awake. She couldn't tell if she hurt him, or if he was braced just for the fear of further pain, but he did not relax until well after she had finished her task. And not till then did he open his eyes.

"Do you want me to bring you something to drink?"

She imagined that he had to be hungry, it had been a long while since he had last eaten.

He was looking at the far corner of the room and without breaking his stare, shook his head.

Frigga let her hand rest on his hair for a moment, then went back to her work.

He was in bed nearly a week.

Frigga brought him books, but he never touched them. Often she would sit with him. Sometimes she would speak, but more often not. Many times he was asleep.

It reminded her of when he had been a small thing, how many times he had been sick.

She wanted to ask Loki why he'd done it. She hated to think that he could just take it into his head to cut off a girl's hair. She couldn't quite make herself believe that. No one else would have driven him to it, least of all Sif herself. She wished she could get inside his head and find the answers. He hadn't taken the hair, he'd left it in a mass beside Sif's bed. What had he done it for?

But Loki never once spoke during those days. And she didn't ask. He seemed, fragile, somehow. It could wait until he was well.

What couldn't, was Loki himself.


	19. Chapter 19

Loki thought that it was the fifth or maybe the sixth day since he'd been in bed.

The fever had largely gone on its way – even _he_ could tell that, and he'd been an invalid long enough.

Carefully, he wriggled himself out of the bed and into his proper clothes.

It was that quiet, in-between-things time of day, after noon, but before preparations are being made for dinner. No one was in the kitchen.

He wasn't hungry – which almost alarmed him. It had been several days, and he had neither eaten nor drunk during that time. To admit the truth, he was nearly afraid to.

Ridiculously grateful that no one was there to watch, Loki got a cup of water and brought it to his lips. It was cold and stung him, but if he swallowed quickly enough, he found that it was largely a painless exercise.

He wasn't paying attention and was mildly startled when his mother said from behind him, "So, you're well then?"

He turned to her and would almost have smiled, but didn't quite dare. She'd always been able to read him, and she didn't disappoint now. She came across the room and touched his arm, "I'm glad to see you're up. You gave me quite a fright last evening. Your fever was so high I thought it liable to burn you to death."

She had a hand on his shoulder, and as she spoke she began to lead him out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the garden. He knew what she was doing but allowed himself to be persuaded to follow her lead. There were others in the garden. They caught nervous glances at him, and some openly stared. Frigga continued to speak as though none of them were there, and Loki listened.

It had to happen sometime. He couldn't hide in his room forever. The sooner he was seen the better. He gave none of the spectators so much as a glance but kept his head bent toward his mother. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to do this on his own, but as she went, never once acting as though this was anything out of the normal course of events, she made it easy for him. He was grateful.

~.~

She didn't keep him out long on that first day. He needed rest, whether he thought he did or not. For the next several days, Frigga found him – most often he was in his room – and together they would walk the various garden paths surrounding the palace. He barely spoke, but the way Frigga saw it, barely was a good sight more than never, and he would get the rest of the way eventually. In the likely course of events, much sooner, rather than later. He had always been a talkative child.

As time passed, she began to find him in his room less and less often. He would venture out on the main paths where he was liable to be seen and visit the library, or the stables.

She was proud of him.

He avoided his father and brother, and that at least showed no signs of changing in the very near future. She could understand that and knew that it would wear off with time.

But his mouth wasn't healing quite as it should have been, and he began to look less well. Just as things were starting to return to their old ways, he began to refuse to leave his room, even accompanied by her. Again, he wouldn't speak.

One morning, Gefjon came to her. She'd been cleaning in his room, and she had found a bundle of rags – hidden – all crusted with dried blood.

Frigga went and found Loki. He was in the library. She knew he would be, but it still took her several minutes to locate him, wandering among the shelves.

"Quite a search you've given me today,"

He jerked, then recovered. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

He was startled more easily, she noticed. "Yes, you have," she touched his chin, tipping his face toward her to get a better view of the scars. None of them looked as though they'd been open for some time, and Gefjon had said that the blood was old. In the past, Loki had hidden injuries by magic, but she could sense none of that on him now.

"How is it today?"

Loki turned back to the shelf, he shrugged. The light played off his skin.

"You haven't been sleeping, have you,"

Something behind his eyes flickered. He pulled a book from the shelf and turned it over in his hands.

"Loki,"

He put a hand on her wrist, "I'm fine." His voice was low, and hoarse from disuse.

He slipped past her and vanished among the shelves.

Frigga let him go.

The next evening, she managed to persuade him to go out with her for a while into the garden. His head was bothering him, so he told her that he was going to go to bed early.

A few hours later, Frigga went up to his room. He was near to a grown man, but he was still her child. She wanted to make sure he was alright, and the cloths Gefjon had found made her anxious.

She tapped on the door. There was no answer, so she pushed it open and slipped in.

Loki was breathing hard, thrashing in the throes of a nightmare. She took him by the shoulder to try and wake him and his hand came up, slamming against her chin and forcing her backward. She tripped and caught herself against the wall.

Loki came up. He scrabbled back against the headboard, drawing up his knees, his eyes wide and frightened, chest heaving. He pressed a hand across his mouth, inspected it for blood, then let it fall, disgusted.

He must have been dreaming about it. She wondered how often he did.

He looked at his hand, the one he'd hit her with. His brows twitched together, like he was trying to remember.

Then he noticed her.

Her hand had gone up against her jaw, where he had hit her, and she drew it away. But not before he'd managed to make sense of what had happened.

Closing his eyes, he turned away, trying to hide from her the way he swallowed back tears.

He'd never been able to hide much from her.

"I thought I told you not to come."

His voice barely betrayed him, steady until the last word. His hand went semi-consciously up to his mouth, tracing the scars. Her _stupid_ boy. Frigga was unsure if she wanted more to hit him or to hold him. Tears bit at her eyes, and before she really knew what she was saying, she'd asked the question.

"_Why_ did you do it?"  
>Loki twitched back a little, like her words were a blow. He fumbled his way to his feet, and then nearly shoved past her as he stumbled out the door.<p>

She hadn't meant to ask, and she was sorry that she had. She wiped the fresh wetness from her cheek. She hadn't meant to hurt him, and it seemed as though that was all she had accomplished.

She did not follow him.

~.~

The hallway was dim and shadowy. All the palace people had gone to bed and few others would be up now. The chances of meeting someone on the way were few, but Loki ignored that. Like a wild, hunted thing, he made for the passages. A few others knew about them, but none used them. They were his. They had always been his. They were safe.

He still felt shaken, unsteady, from the dream. It had all happened again, his father watching, Thor holding him still, the sharp little awl stabbing hole after hole and the strip of leather lacing through, again and again and again. Every night. Was he never to have peace?

His mouth hurt, but he wasn't sure if it was real or dream-pain.

And then his mother had come. Still meshed in the nightmare, he'd struck her.

He couldn't believe that he'd hit his mother. But the pain of contact was there, and she'd tried to hide the shock at being struck, but even still half-caught in sleep, he could see the bruise forming.

_Why did you do it?_

He didn't know. He couldn't think back and remember why any of it had been a good idea. All he could remember was how afraid he was and how badly he hurt and the way his father had just _watched_.

He came to a door in the wall of the passage and – knowing only through instinct where he was – he crashed through it.

The library was all peace and stillness. The harshness of his breathing, far from shattering it, was overpowered. It settled over him like a heavy blanket across his shoulders. Shuddering in and out of him, his breath was forced to slow.

He tripped and came against the smooth side of a broad, tall bookshelf that suddenly struck him as enormous, even though he'd seen it nearly every day of his life and never thought to remark on it before. He leaned against it. His hand was clapped over his mouth and he didn't know how long it had been there. It didn't matter. He was afraid, and the pressure of his hand made him feel safer. It was dark. Tonight, here, the dark was kind, numbing from shame and anger and fear.

He remembered Thor catching hold of him in the doorway, dragging him back, holding him down.

He remembered the way the cord had bit into him.

The tears that had been so ready to fall in his room did little more now than sting his eyes.

His body was heavy with needed sleep. His mother was right, he hadn't been sleeping. Every night he woke to the dream. Sometimes even in daylight he would be plagued. Often now, he didn't even try.

He was afraid, so afraid. But there was nothing he could do about it. And he was so _tired_. His knees gave and he allowed himself to slip down with his back against the shelf.

His hand was still clamped over his mouth when he fell asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

As had ever been his way, Thor rose early. It was pleasant, to be up before the majority of the palace, especially since, if no one else was awake, there was nothing for him to do. He disliked all the schedules and meetings. Having an hour or two of time without them in the morning was good.

Not finding his knife where it should have been, Thor went down to the dining hall, thinking that perhaps he had dropped it there.

He did not find his knife. What he did find, was his brother.

Thor was surprised to see him. Loki was never up at this hour. And, more than that, Thor had barely seen him these past few weeks. The light played unnervingly across the scars. Something bitter and, more than anything, sorry, churned in Thor's chest. He had been angry, but he had not expected…He had not expected Loki to be permanently hurt. He had to do something to fix it.

Besides, it was just the day before that his mother had mentioned to him in passing that it might be time to make good with his brother. When he had expressed reluctance, his mother had commented that she thought Loki unlikely to make the first move and had asked Thor to imagine himself in his brother's place.

Taking a breath, Thor decided now was as good a time as any. Better, in fact. With the eerie white light of the only just-risen sun playing beyond the walls, he felt he had a chance at anything, even conquering Loki's silence. Besides, nobody else was up but a few kitchen people and those few in the palace who looked after the horses. No one would bother them, for one thing, and for another, there would be no one for Loki to get distracted by.

Thor sat down beside him. At the motion of the bench, Loki gave a violent start, glanced at Thor, flushed, and looked away.

It was unlike Loki to be startled like that. Thor couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to sneak up on his brother. It unnerved him slightly. "You're up early," he ventured.

Loki's expression flickered, but – that was the way of their talks – Thor couldn't tell if it was a good or bad thing. Loki liked to keep his thoughts to himself, and it was maddening. Largely since, as was his habit, Loki often chose to take offense at nothing, and to do so violently, and without warning. Thor remembered all this, but did not allow it to sully his good humor.

"What are you up to, this fine morning?"

There was a plate of food in front of him, but Loki had barely touched it and he wasn't eating now. He looked at Thor like he wanted to say that it was a stupid question, but he thought it an amusing one, and Thor was encouraged.

"You'll never guess what happened last night," and he began to tell about the fight he and Vidar had _almost_ gotten into, and how, instead, he and Fandral had gone to the Women's Quarters. Gerda had caught them before they could _do_ anything, but the thrill had largely been in the fact that they snuck in, and she hadn't taken that when she tossed them out.

"You should have been there." In his exuberance, Thor threw out an arm and dropped it across Loki's shoulders, drawing his brother closer to him and shaking him a little to make his point.

Normally, Loki would have shoved him off, perhaps laughed, moved a little farther out of reach, smoothed his ruffled feathers like an angry hen, and moved on. Not this morning. His face went a sick white color and before Thor had a chance to react in any way, he had twisted himself out from under Thor's arm and was standing a little distance away, his back to Thor, breath coming raggedly.

"Loki?"

After a moment he turned. The white in his cheeks had gone violently scarlet, but Thor couldn't tell what that meant. With Loki he never knew. He opened his mouth like he meant to speak. A tear glittered as it caught the light, spilling down his cheek and, snapping his mouth shut, he turned on his heel. He strode out of the room and vanished down the hall.

Thor looked after him, confused and angry. Loki had been listening to him, had almost laughed at his story, then taken fright and fled as soon as he touched him.

Loki was afraid of him.

It made him feel sick and helpless. He shot to his feet, taking the table in his hands to turn it over, but let it go just before it would have fallen. Everything that had been left on it from the night before, as well as the plate Loki had been ignoring, went crashing to the ground. The table fell back into its old place and Thor sat heavily back down. The tears on his face were boiling hot.

~.~

Sif rose early. The horses needed tending. But today, she rose with new purpose. She went across the little room to the vanity she ignored – strictly these past weeks – and starred at herself in the mirror.

Her hair was dark, which still came as a bit of a shock to her. It was dark and hung down past her shoulders, thick and straight, just as it always had. But now black in place of gold.

People talked. She heard them. They talked and they told stories. They wondered about it. But no one would ask her straight out what had happened or what she felt about it. Which she supposed was just as well. She hadn't even known what she looked like until this morning.

She slid her fingers through the dark strands, hardly believing they were hers. She missed the way the light used to play on the gold. The black was oppressive and ugly. She drew it away from her face.

Standing like that, Sif came to a decision. She brushed the dreadful hair smooth and bound it behind her where she needn't see it. She meant to be a warrior. She would be strong and brave, and become the best warrior Asgard possessed. One didn't need hair to do that. To be a warrior, she didn't need to be beautiful. To be a warrior, all she needed to do was to train. Which was something she had been neglecting these past weeks. She didn't like the way the boys looked at her, now like they pitied her or were afraid she might bite them when they got too close. Especially Thor. He didn't look at her like he used to. And while she hadn't wanted his affections now, she sorely missed the assurance that he would wait until she did. But what did it matter? She didn't need affections, she didn't need friends, to become a warrior. They would hamper her training and tax what little time she had left for it. She wouldn't shun their company, but her life was different now. She wouldn't look for it to be what it had.

She stopped to look in the mirror one last time before she left. Her hair hardly bothered her with her new decision still fresh and gleaming before her. No, she'd never let her hair loose again, but what did it matter?

The stable hands noticed her good humor, but none of them asked, and she didn't choose to explain. She finished her tasks quickly, much more quickly than she had done recently, then washed her hands at the pump and made her way back to the kitchens.

Normally, she met a few people just getting up and setting out to do their work. But this morning she was earlier and expected to see no one. The last person she expected, was Loki.

Now he came whipping around a corner, much as he had that first day – so long ago! – when they had gone to find that passageway. This time, though, she checked her pace, recoiling a little, and he stopped completely.

Sif had been prepared to continue on her way, but the polite greeting died on her lips as she caught sight of his face. She had heard what had happened to him after she had fled Glashiem. She'd even caught fleeting glimpses of him since. It was horrible, but she'd told herself that he deserved it. Now, suddenly, seeing him, she wasn't quite sure. He was scarred, flushed, and she was unsure if he looked more angry, frightened, or ashamed. She didn't have time to sort it out either, because no sooner had he met her eyes, than all of it slipped behind a tensely held mask.

Even so, she'd never seen him more upset.

"Lady Sif," his voice was rough and he went to move past her. The light played eerily over the scars on his mouth and highlighted the dark smudges under his eyes.

She caught hold of his arm, "Loki, are you alright?"

The mask flickered, then hardened, proud and angry. He pulled his arm roughly away. His voice was barely more than a whisper, but she heard him clearly. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern."

They had been friends, and for a moment, she had forgotten what he had done to her. She was worried about him more than she was angry, now, seeing how he was. But if Loki would not have it so, then let him have his way. "Oh," she drew back, too fast to not show her surprise, "alright then."

Even in the shadows, she could see the tear that went jaggedly down his face. He knew and gave an exasperated breath, turned his head sharply away and passed her, leaving her to think what she would.

She did not turn to look after him.

For a moment, she had forgotten what he had done, and in his pain she had been willing to forgive him, willing to grant him a second chance. The scars were proof; he'd paid for his offense. But Loki was having none of it. Fine. So be it. He had no right to be angry with her. She was far from having wronged _him_.

She had already made up her own mind.

That's all they were after all, stories.

~.~

When Loki had woken up, it was still dark, and for a moment, he wondered where he was. The ground was hard beneath him and the shelf behind and he remembered what had happened.

He'd slept like he'd been drugged. Heavily, and with no dreams, but not long enough. Weariness still floated like cobwebs about his head. But it was no use trying to go back to sleep. He was unlikely to get that lucky twice, and he was too afraid of the dreams to attempt it.

The next thing he realized was that he was hungry.

He pushed himself aching off the floor and onto his feet. As he made for the door, he caught his shin against a table he must've toppled in his flight the night before. He hadn't remembered doing that.

He righted it.

Loki went to the kitchens, then sat down in the abandoned dining hall. It seemed huge, with no one in it. He found he liked it this way.

He didn't much feel like eating, now that the food was before him, but he had nowhere to go either, so he stayed where he was.

Then Thor had come in. He'd startled Loki, badly, but Loki tried to cover it and Thor didn't seem to notice, sitting down beside him and beginning one of his ridiculous tales. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight for absolutely no reason, but after a few minutes of Thor's familiar, jovial voice, he managed to relax a bit and actually listen to what it was Thor was telling him.

He'd missed his brother. He hadn't known that until just now.

Then Thor's arm had come across him and his mind went blank and wild and he was off the bench, trembling like a startled deer. He remembered the awl, and Thor's hands holding him down, holding him still. It was all he could do for a moment to not be sick.

"Loki?"

It passed, and all Loki was left with was the knowledge of how desperately afraid of his brother he was, and that Thor _knew_. When he turned around, Thor's face was twisted with worry and Loki wanted to slap him or shake him – make him stop _looking_ at him like that – but he was too weak to do anything more than stand there. His throat ached and he didn't dare speak. Tears pooled in his eyes. One scorched his face and the shame burned him mercilessly. Thor opened his mouth like he was going to say something and Loki couldn't take it. He fled.

He knew better than to fly recklessly down the halls, no matter what time of day it was. And he paid for his folly in not obeying his own common sense. Of course it was Sif. The Norns favored him _that_ much.

She nearly tripped, but managed to stop. He'd hardly seen her since Gladsheim. He had thought she was beautiful – stunning – then, with all her black hair shining. He still thought so. His heart leapt up and made him dizzy and stupid, throwing off all chances at anything remotely _like_ equilibrium. He didn't remember suddenly if he could breathe.

This was nonsense and he needed to go before he made a fool of himself. He forced a greeting, but she caught his arm, peered at him with her grey eyes, really _looked_ at him in that way that she had that was so unlike the manner anyone else used for him.

"Loki, are you alright?"

He had to try to remember, suddenly, that she hated him.

But she was looking at him now like none of it had happened. Her eyes were soft on him and it wrenched something in his chest. He pulled away from her. She had no right to pity him. She had no right to worry after him. She held no claim over him. He'd won her the blasted hair. He'd made good his debt.

"I fail to see how that is any of your concern."

Her hair, black and shinning.

It was all his fault.

Sif's face went blank, like he'd struck her, just like he'd struck his mother. "Oh," her entire manner changed, cold again, icy. "Alright then."

His breath strangled in his throat. She had to be able to see how he was struggling to keep himself in check. Barely daring to let his newly acquired breath out, he brushed past her and as soon as he was out of her line of sight, all but ran for the longest of the passages, the one that lead up onto the walls, over a part of the castle that was barely inhabited. It was beautiful there, and rather than looking over the city, the view from that wall laid out the distant mountains.

His hands were clenched and his heart beat high and angry, pounding in his chest. What right had Sif to do that? To pretend that she cared what was wrong? She hated him. Couldn't she see that it was hard enough? Why would she ask? Pretend that she cared? He didn't even know what was wrong with him. Everything was wrong. And if it hadn't been for Sif none of it would have happened. It was his own folly that had landed him as far as it did. If she hadn't encouraged him – And she needn't have hated him. Didn't she see that he was trying to set it right? Couldn't she tell that he was sorry? He'd struck his own mother. He'd asked her to leave him alone, to allow him to figure this out, and now… And what had possessed Thor to touch him? The last time Thor had touched him like that…didn't he _know?_

He came out into the air and shouted at the sky, hitting the wall with all the strength of his rage. It hurt his hands, but he didn't care.

He was broken. When his own brother touched him, he _ran away_.

He'd driven away the only real friend he'd ever had.

Thor _held him down._

And Father had _just watched_. He'd _just watched._ He hadn't come to see if he was alright, he hadn't told to dwarf to take the gold and be off, he'd _just watched._

At contact with the hard stone, all his anger fled and the tears he'd been too weary for during the night overwhelmed him. He dissolved against the wall, leaning his burning face into his arm.

The wind played with his hair.

The grief on him was like a lead weight and after some time it drove him down to a crumpled mess on the ground.

His head was all in a whirl. He was hurt. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to fix any of it, and didn't know if it was worth any of his effort to even try. It was his own fault. How could he be _so inept_? How could he be such a blasted fool? To think he'd thought it might turn out differently, that he might be able to fix _anything_. He wasn't going to try. It hurt too much to breathe. And he didn't want to care anymore. It wasn't worth it.

It was a long time before he raised his head.

He took stock of himself. He was sore and unsteady all through, like he'd been sick. His breath came in awful little jerks. His hands felt stiff. When he looked at them, he saw the darkening bruises from when he'd hit the rough stone. Leaning back against it, he raise his hand, pressing his hot palm trembling against his mouth, trying to comfort the deep, sharp ache.

The heat and pressure did help, somewhat, after a while.

His mind was a little more clear now, and he tried to think, but weeping had given him none of the answers. He was just as muddled as he had been. But by now his back was beginning to pain him, and he pushed himself up off of the ground. There was nothing in the nine that could make him head back into populated territory just yet, but maybe walking would do him good.

The walls surrounding the city were high, and, as is the case with all high walls, constantly pestered by the wind. The place in which Loki had been up till now was largely shielded from the stronger blasts.

The wind cooled his face, cutting through the places where it was still wet. He leaned wearily on the stone and looked out over the mountains.

The wind was toying with his hair, batting at the stray strands. Finally, it caught one and, the wind blowing against him, it lay against his cheek, then curved playfully across his mouth, pressing against the scars.

Heart skipping at the familiar pressure, Loki went to brush the hair back, but it remained caught against his lips. He panicked. He turned and dropped out of the wind, clawing the hair away from him. And when his mind came back from the appalling whiteness that had momentarily claimed it, that was how he discovered himself, panting, crouching behind the wall where the wind couldn't reach him, both hands clapped over his mouth.

This was ridiculous. He leaned back against the wall, prying his hands from his face. Was he really this damaged? To startle at the wind like it meant him harm? This was unfitting behavior for a son of Odin. Oh _yes_, he'd be a great one, afraid and flying from the wind in his own hair.

Hitting his injured knuckles against the ground wasn't a good idea, he knew that. And crying _more_ wasn't about to help matters, but that didn't stop the tears from biting into his eyes.

Closing his eyes, he laid his head back against the wall.

He would heal. Just like the time he'd been thrown from Thor's horse when they'd tried to sneak it out of the stables. They'd been foolish little children. He remembered what an adventure it'd seemed, sneaking into the stable, distracting the guards, then creeping up on the huge animal. He'd broken several ribs when it threw him. No one ever knew. It had hurt him to breathe, to laugh, to talk, to run, to move. No one had ever known how hurt he was. And he had healed.

He smeared the heel of his palm against his eyes, forcing his breath slow and even.

He would heal. It would take its time, but he would heal.

He just had to survive until he did.


	21. Chapter 21

Odin came into the old range. It was dim here, and cool, caught in the shade of the overhanging trees even now, during the heat of the afternoon. The stone was cold to the touch, poc-marked and eaten away by the mosses that clung to it. One of the vines that spilled down the back left corner had blue flowers peeking out of it, shining coldly in the shade, filling the space with their sweet scent.

This was the range where Odin had trained as a boy, before the new sections of the palace had been added, and the larger, more open range made.

The place was usually abandoned, which was likely why Loki frequented it.

Odin had visited him, twice, in the time when he was healing. The first had been that second day, before Loki had woken from the sleep that had claimed him before the guards brought him in. Odin had sat beside him as Frigga went to take some rest from her vigil. The second time had been a week or so later. The boy had been asleep and Odin had not thought it wise to waken him.

He was practicing now with his knives, and, for all that could be told, had not sensed his father's approach.

Odin remembered when the boy had asked for knives. They were not a weapon Odin would have suggested, but Frigga had commented on it, and her promotion had decided the question. As she had largely been training the boy – as much as Odin disliked that situation – she knew best what he was suited for.

There was a bench by the side of the courtyard opposite the target, close to the door he'd come in by. Odin sat down and watched quietly.

Loki was aiming his last knife. Odin knew that because the set he'd bought him had twelve, and there were eleven down range.

There was a glitter of patchy sunlight on the white-silver blade of the knife, and then it was turning through the air and struck the target, cutting deep.

"It was well thrown,"

Loki whirled around, another knife caught suddenly to his hand. In the same movement, he realized who it was that had spoken to him, straightened and tried – unsuccessfully – to cover his surprise.

"Father," he twisted his hands and the knife vanished. Then, "Thor's not here."

"I know. Even I am not so blind as that."

Loki flushed. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands and clasped them behind him. He said nothing.

"Is it so surprising that I might want to see you, Loki? It has been over-long since you have darkened the doors of my halls, and I have been too busy of late. Come here."

The boy came forward, shrinking the space between them. The speckled light played across the scars. Scars Odin wished he could have prevented. But he was the AllFather, and Loki was no longer a child. Exceptions could not be made. Not for anyone. Especially one of his sons.

"Let me see your knife,"

He twisted his hand, plucked the blade from the air, and offered it to his father. All without a word or nuance of expression. Odin wished that things with his second son could be easier. If Thor was angry with him, he would act on it. If he was pleased or flattered or excited, that too would be obvious. Not so with Loki. Anything could be happening behind those eyes.

Odin took the knife and looked it over. Not only was it a thirteenth, it was not of the set that he had procured for his son.

"Where did you get this?"

There was a pause then, "I made it."

Odin looked up at him, "You made this?"

Loki was looking away, face flushed, whether with exercise or something else. He jerked a nod.

Odin surveyed the knife. Even princes – _especially_ princes – needed to learn some trade. Odin had apprenticed both Thor and Loki to the palace sword-smith. Frigga had suggested that perhaps it would be better to at least assign them different teachers, but Odin had said that no, they would benefit from further opportunity to work alongside one another. As it had turned out, Thor had the strength – and more than the strength – for the job, but lacked the patience. Often he would leave before his time was spent, or refuse to come at all. Loki also often neglected to show himself, and when he did, they told Odin, he was not over-eager to work himself, but mainly watched.

Now that Odin was thinking about it, it had been quite a time ago that he had enquired. Chances were that both of them had chosen to re-think their prior decisions.

The balance of the blade was excellent, and the design beautiful.

"Who showed you how to do this?"

"Grimna taught me most of it."

Ah, yes. The old elf who assisted the smith. That would explain much of the design. It was too delicate for Jorgan's taste.

"And the rest?"

Loki shrugged, "I guessed."

Odin handed him back the blade, "It was well done."

Loki took it and hid it once more, hands moving more quickly and less surely than they had the first time. Still he seemed unwilling to speak.

Odin indicated the seat beside him, "Come, sit."

The boy perched on the edge of the bench, uncomfortable and ready to fly at a moment's notice. It was hard to tell if he meant it that way, or if that was normal for him. Frigga would know. Somehow, Frigga always knew these things.

Odin raised a hand and touched the boy's chin, tipping his head back to survey the scars more closely.

"Do they still pain you?"

"No."

Odin thought that might be a lie. They had not been allowed to heal undisturbed, that much his trained eye could tell by looking, but they were closed now. Loki grew uncomfortable with the examination, and turned his head away.

"Do they make for a good tale?"

There was a pause, then, "I don't talk about it."

"Then why not hide it? I know your studies have progressed that far at least."

Loki shrugged, almost grinned, "It hadn't occurred to me."

The light way he said it, the sharp change of mood, Odin once more suspected a lie. But why press? If the boy wanted to lie to him about his personal inclinations, that was fine. Not as Odin would personally have had it, but not his choice. He remembered his own father, and how his father had wanted to know every part of his son's lives, to the point of setting spies. If Loki didn't want to tell him the truth, he didn't have to.

"They should fade with time," Odin stood up. The day of a king was never restful. "You may return to your practice."

As Odin passed under the stone arch, he heard something hit the target, and hit it with a great deal of force.

He didn't turn around.


	22. Chapter 22

Thor had woken in the morning to find that his brother was terrified of him. The rest of the day hadn't been much better.

Nothing especially bad had happened, it was only that he was troubled. Thor did not like problems that he could see no answer to. Loki was the one who enjoyed those, and right now, Loki was not a person Thor could talk to at all. Thor shook his head, trying to move the dark mood from him, but the question simply refused to answer itself. As far as he could see it, the problem was that Loki was afraid of him. The solution would then be to show him it wasn't necessary. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Loki had listened to him that morning, or at least Thor had thought he had – it was always hard to tell with Loki, hard to tell what was really happening inside his head. A voice that sounded very like his mother's suggested that he go and apologize to Loki, explain that he had had no idea what it was he had been dragging Loki back for, and then after that, that he had had no choice but to follow their father's orders, and he hadn't meant to frighten him that morning. But it was hard to apologize to Loki. Thor would start, but Loki would get that blank look on his face and Thor would forget what it was he had been trying to say and end up feeling like an idiot and nothing much would change for all his pains.

Thor sighed. Why could nothing that touched on his brother just be simple and make sense?

He remembered when he was small, how afraid he had been of water and how, when it had come time to learn to swim, he would have none of it. Nothing the teachers did could coax him in. Finally, Odin had come out, picked him up, and tossed him. One of the teachers had been near enough that it hadn't been a problem, and the experience had frightened him, but it had proved to him, small though he'd been, that there was nothing to be frightened of. The water could be one's friend, under the right circumstances. Merely touching it was not going to kill you. When it came time for the next lesson, Thor had made no fuss at all. And never since had the water troubled him a whit.

Thoughtfully taking a sip from the cup in his hand, Thor rose from the crowded bench and made his way from the pleasant hum of the dining hall to the dead silence of the outer rooms. Shadows were beginning to creep up the walls and hang thick in the air though the torches had not been lighted just yet.

He came to Loki's door and – checking himself – knocked. There was a slight murmur within, and, expecting that that meant he was welcome, Thor opened the door. Loki was sitting toward the back of the room, curled up in a chair, with a book on his lap. He glanced up as Thor came in, then laid aside his book. He seemed tired.

"What?"

It was the first time he'd heard Loki's voice in some while. It was rough, like he hadn't spoken in a long time, which Thor supposed he hadn't.

He realized he still had his cup and set it down. He came across the room.

Loki's dark eyebrows came together, "Brother?"

"This is for your own good."

"Thor!"

But Thor wasn't listening. He'd taken firm hold of Loki's shoulders and, pulling him from the chair, had wrapped his arms tightly round him. Loki writhed and struggled, but Thor wasn't about to let go. A sudden jerk threw Thor momentarily and he lurched a little, knocking something heavy over behind him. Thor pulled tighter and forced Loki still.

Then Thor decided it was enough and released him.

This decision was met with a sharp – and surprising – blow to the jaw that made Thor momentarily dizzy.

Loki didn't shout at him, and didn't hit him again, but tripped backward over his own feet and collapsed against the wall.

Thor made a move toward him, but checked himself. Loki was ignoring him entirely, which, given the circumstances, Thor found distinctly alarming.

"Loki?"

He was breathing hard and he retched, but nothing came up and he leaned back against the wall. His hand was shaking as he pressed it up against his mouth. He was facing Thor now, but still not looking at him. He looked beaten and almost despairing.

It occurred to Thor that he'd gone too far. In all likelihood, much too far.

He didn't know what to do.

"Loki!"

He made a move toward him but Loki shook his head, holding out a hand to wave him away. Somewhat relieved that at least Loki could hear him, Thor held back. Loki still wasn't quite looking at him. He sunk down beside the wall with his head on his knees. Thor thought that Loki would want him to leave. He didn't know what to do. But leaving right now, as much as Loki might like it, felt wrong to him. He went over and sat down, about arm's reach from him.

Neither one moved nor spoke for some while, until finally Loki raised his head. His face was dry and the look on it that had so alarmed Thor was gone. His eyes were shut and voice perfectly level as he asked, "What in heaven's name possessed you to do that?"

The tone was so familiar, and Thor had missed it so much these past weeks that he almost laughed. "Loki," something jumped up and caught hold of his throat, "I can't –" he swallowed thickly, blinking back the sudden stinging tears, "You can't be afraid of me. What happened – in Gladsheim –"

"Thor," Loki had opened his eyes, but he was looking straight before him.

"I didn't know what was happening. Father was wrong, he shouldn't –"

"Thor,"

"I don't know what happened – I –"

"I don't want to talk about it,Thor."

"– I'm sorry."

The words hovered in the air for a long moment before Loki sighed, "I know." He closed his eyes again, then, with a sudden intake of breath his hand went up to his mouth.

"Brother!"

Loki pushed him away. He took his hand down and leaned back against the wall. He let out a shuddering breath.

"Does it still hurt?"

A tear skidded down his face, for all his closed eyes. He nodded.

It was several moments before he sat up again, opening his eyes and smearing the back of his hand across his cheek. He stared straight before him, and Thor didn't move. All was silent, when, just as Thor was beginning to get restless, the cup he had set on the desk, tipped all of its own, and began to ooze shimmering little snakes over the ledge and onto the floor.

With a startled ejaculation, Thor jumped up.

Then he noticed that Loki was laughing.

For a moment, he thought he might be angry, but instead, felt himself smile. It had been weeks since Loki had played like that with him. "Can I touch them?"

Loki shrugged and Thor reached out a hand. The little creature shimmered into nothing as it came in contact with him.

Loki laid a hand on the floor, and coming toward him, a little snake slithered onto it, coiling and recoiling around his fingers.

"How come you can touch them but they go to dust when I try?"

"I'm the caster," Loki murmured, "The rules are different for me." He shook his hand and the snake disappeared. "I thought you didn't like snakes."

"I don't."

"And yet you're disappointed that I can't let you touch one?"

"They're your snakes. You just proved they can't hurt me."

"Hm," Loki looked away. "There are ways to create real snakes," he said, "that don't disappear when you touch them. You can't just," he waved his hand and the last of the little serpents vanished, "wave them away. Usually you'd need a cursed sword."

"But you don't know how to do that?"

Loki's eyes glittered as he looked side-long at him, "Not just yet."

Thor wasn't sure he liked the idea of Loki magicking real snakes into being. His jaw ached and he touched it, trying to feel for the injury.

"You deserved that." Loki's scarred mouth was half-twisted up in a smirk. Thor moved his hand away from his face. His stomach lurched a little every time he looked at those scars. He shifted his gaze and met Loki's poison-green eyes. He wasn't laughing now. He'd seen the look. He looked back.

Uneasy, Thor put a hand on his shoulder.

He felt Loki tense, but there was not a flicker in the eyes he had trained on Thor's.

"I'm glad to have you back, Brother," Thor said, "I've missed having you by my side."

Loki dropped his eyes, then turned away and pushed himself to his feet.

"I'm going out," he announced. "Are you coming?"

"Where are you going?" Thor grinned, it _was_ good to have Loki back, "Not out for more…shavings, are you?"

Loki gave a short laugh, "No." He turned so Thor could see his face again, "Are you coming?"

Thor gestured to the cup on the ground, "I have to return her to her fellows,"

"I'll walk with you as far as the hall, then."

A few of the torches had been lighted, but the darkness clung black and sticky to the far walls.

The glow of firelight and the sounds of merry laughter emanated from the doorway to the dining hall.

"You won't join me?" Thor asked again.

Loki was firm, "Not tonight."

"You have to eat sometime,"

He laughed, "I'll manage somehow."

"Don't get yourself into trouble, then, Loki. I can't always rescue you."

If Loki answered, Thor did not hear it. He vanished into the dark.

Shaking his head, Thor went to join his friends.


End file.
